Favoured Friends
by Trinity Day
Summary: [Complete] An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.
1.

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 1/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Pandora ( abby_stiles@hotmail.com ) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, June 9, 2002

"Nigel? Are you busy?" Sydney called, after rapping staccato on his already open door. 

He tucked a bookmark into _Ahkenaten's Egypt_, and gave her his undivided attention. Dr Sydney Fox was not a woman he turned away on general principles, as his employer and as a friend. She was dazzlingly intelligent, a pleasure to work with and tireless in the field. That she was also quite fetching was a minor virtue in comparison, but one that he had found difficult to ignore on occasion. 

"Can I ask you a favour?" she handed over a gild-edged white rectangle of card. "It's an invitation to this year's National Egyptology Conference." 

"A little late, isn't it?" He remembered how frustrated Sydney had been to miss the conference for the expedition in Asia Minor. 

"Postponed," she smiled, as little besides historical matters could make her. "Prof. Martin was detained at Saqqara, found an entire undiscovered room in H33. The reliefs are even better preserved than ones he already found." 

"This coming weekend?" Nigel protested, now skimming the card. Not thirty-six hours back in this country, they -- he had been rapidly preparing for the next semester which began the coming Monday. He had a sinking feeling he knew what was being asked. 

"I know it's cutting close, but you know how important and relevant this conference is," she said, indicating the book he'd just put down. "I can't not attend this conference. Prof. Martin and the obvious PR opportunity aside, Dr. Kauffman is being flown from Berlin to give a paper on his upcoming thesis..." 

He noticed the card read, "Dr Sydney Fox and Guest", adding to his lack of spirits. He made a mental note to ask later whether she had notes from a previous semester.

"...You can say no. This isn't harassment, Nigel, and your job is not on the line. I'd like--" 

"Excuse me?" 

"I'd like you to accompany me. Because of the postponement, the timetable was compressed. Martin and Kauffman, among others, are giving lectures at the same time. I thought we could compare notes." 

He must have looked stunned as she held her hands palms-up and raised slightly in a gesture of placation. 

"We'll have separate rooms and with the hectic schedule, hardly see each other during the day. I know it doesn't seem very appropriate, but I can't think of anyone else in the faculty who wouldn't see more in the invitation that there really is." 

It wasn't a warning, but a show of her faith in him. The conference was by invitation only and he should have felt flattered. 

"All right." 

"Be at the airport eight am, Friday. Pack smart casual -- and a tux, the final dinner is black-tie. And, don't worry, Nigel, this will be better preparation than anything out of a book." 

And then she left.

End Part One


	2. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 2/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by me, Trinity Day (trinityday@hotmail.com) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Monday, June 24, 2002

Nigel had just about finished unpacking when the knock on the door came. He hung up his tuxedo in the mini-closet in his room and went to see who was there.  
  
"Hey, Nigel," Sydney said, flashing him a smile. The way she looked, one would think she had spent the last five hours getting ready instead of being on a cramped airplane and in a sticky, sweaty, crowded airport, trying to deal with stubborn airport officials. "You ready?"  
  
"Sure," he said, although he would have killed for the chance to have a shower. Considering how much travelling he had done, he should have been used to it by now, but he wasn't. How Sydney could do it and still look like a million dollars was beyond him. "Let me just grab my keys."  
  
He picked his wallet and the keys to the hotel room off the dresser and followed Sydney out of the room, checking the doorknob out of habit to make sure it was locked.  
  
Several of the hotel's rooms had been devoted to the convention. The one they entered now had been colourfully called "The Ballroom" and it was already filled with people. Either the people there didn't believe in being fashionably late, or the reception had started a lot earlier and the fashionably late had already arrived.  
  
"Sydney!" The delighted exclamation came from a dark-haired man in his mid-thirties. He came towards them with outstretched arms, a wineglass in one hand.  
  
"Cal?" Sydney wondered aloud. "Is that you?"  
  
"In the flesh," he answered. Sydney flung her arms around him.  
  
"I can't believe it!" she exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"  
  
"What does it look like I'm doing here?" he retorted. "I'm attending the National Egyptology Conference."  
  
Sydney rolled her eyes. "I mean what are you doing *here*? I haven't seen you in years."  
  
"I've taken up a teaching post over at the University of Ottawa. Since I was so close, I was invited to attend."  
  
"Ottawa?" Sydney asked, but Cal didn't get a chance to answer.  
  
Up until this point, Nigel had been standing there, feeling rather uncomfortable. He had the feeling that unless he brought some attention to himself, he would be forced to witness their reunion for the rest of the night. So he cleared his throat.  
  
Glancing over at him, Sydney stepped away from Cal. "Cal, this is my research assistant, Nigel Bailey. Nigel, this is Cal Quinn, an old friend of mine."  
  
Nigel forced a smile. "Pleasure to meet you," he said.  
  
"Likewise," Cal said, but he seemed distracted. "Syd, there's something I want to show you. Come with me."  
  
Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her away and into the milling crowd. Before Nigel even knew what had happened, he was all alone.  
  
"Great," he muttered. "Perfect."  
  
One of the servers came by, offering him a glass of wine. Nigel declined with a shake of his head and she disappeared again. There were dozens, maybe hundreds of people around, but Nigel still felt left out. They all seemed to know each other, while he didn't know any of them.  
  
He was startled when somebody tapped him on the shoulder. He turned around and saw a young woman with dark brown hair staring at him. She gave the impression of a timid mouse and was biting her lip nervously.  
  
"Excuse me," she said in a soft voice. "Was that Sydney Fox you were with?"  
  
"Yes," Nigel said suspiciously. "Why?"  
  
"I need her help. It's very important. It's about - " she broke off, looking fearfully at something beyond Nigel's shoulder. Nigel turned around to see what was scaring her and saw a security guard watching them closely, talking into his walkie-talkie.  
  
"Here," she said, pressing a piece of paper into his hand before scampering off.  
  
The security guard started after her, but since she had gotten a good head start and he wasn't hurrying so that he wouldn't alarm any of the guests, Nigel doubted he would catch her.  
  
What had that been about?  
  
End Part Two  



	3. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 3/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by ****LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Thursday, June 27, 2002

"Women! Can't live with them, can't handcuff them without their permission."  
  
Nigel craned his neck to see a very large and powerfully-built bald man. The other man stood entirely too close for Nigel's taste. Nigel took a step back and laughed nervously. "I suppose there's a certain logic to that, though I rather like the species, myself." He wasn't sure he could say the same for the man whose expression suggested other interests.  
  
The older man shrugged. "No accounting for tastes. I'm David Blount, by the way." He reached out and gripped Nigel's shoulder in a motion that was something between a perverted caress and a threat.  
  
Startled and unnerved, the assistant relic hunter tried to move away, but Blount's grip was unyielding. "I've got something I'd like to show you now, Mr. Bailey."  
  
Nigel's eyes darted through the crowd, desperately searching for his boss. "I'm sorry, Sir, but I have obligations here. I don't think I should leave just now. I'm waiting for someone." His heart was pounding. He wasn't a martial arts expert, but he made up his mind to learn.  
  
If he lived long enough.  
  
Uncertainty convinced him to palm the scrap of paper from the girl as he feigned tossing it into a nearby wastebasket.  
  
"Nigel! There you are!" Sydney's voice was slurred by alcohol as she draped her arm around him. "I don't think I've had the pleasure, Mr. -?"  
  
Blount didn't bat an eye. He reached for Sydney's hand, raising it to his lips. Somewhere along the way, though, he ended up kissing air and she steered Nigel through the crowd, still weaving on her feet so that her assistant had to support her. Nigel wasn't certain if the drunkenness was a fact or an act. He didn't care, frankly, as long as it got him away from the old creep.  
  
They made it into the elevator before Sydney slumped to the floor. Suddenly Nigel realized that her malaise wasn't caused by drink. Blood leaked through the slinky black fabric of her dress and rolled spidery red rivulets down her arm, spreading a dark stain across the floor. He choked back his own fears and nausea, kneeling beside her. "Sydney… My God, what happened?"  
  
Here alone, Sydney raised frightened eyes to him. "You have… to get away… The Viper is… here."  
  
"Who? Never mind that now, we have to get help for you. You're going to be all right." When the elevator doors opened, he shrieked out to a passing chambermaid, "We need a doctor!" Cradling Sydney in his arms, he recited every prayer he every knew, even those that resembled nursery rhymes, hoping at least one of them was suitable for holding onto a best friend whose life was fading before his eyes.

End Part Three


	4. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 4/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( ccarilorus@yahoo.com ) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, July 17, 2002

An hour later, Nigel found himself sitting on a hard plastic chair, flipping through a five month old magazine, and unconsciously staring a hole into the large black clock on the waiting room wall.  
  
A simple conference, that was all it was supposed to be. Egyptologists and archeologists sitting around sipping wine and discussing the newest hole they'd dug in the ground. He ran a hand through his thick brown hair, pushing the errant strands off his forehead.  
  
*A simple conference* Yes, quite simple... complete with poison-tipped knives, attempted murderers, and mysterious note-passing strangers. 

His hand reached for his pocket, once more retrieving the folded slip of paper the girl at the ballroom had passed him. To say it was cryptic would be a generous interpretation. 

"Ichriem is found. MT 10:30-BMR"  
  
He muttered the words for the hundredth time, still making no sense of them. Ichriem sounded vaguely familiar, but he just couldn't place it... it could have been a place or a person, maybe even a thing. It sounded like something Sydney would know.  
  
Nigel closed his eyes. Sydney. He hadn't heard a word about her condition since she'd been brought in. She'd looked so pale, but whether it was from blood loss or something else was yet to be seen... seen by doctors anyway. Nigel knew she'd been drugged, her seemingly drunken behavior before she collapsed was all the clue he needed. It simply wasn't humanly possible for her to have become intoxicated in the short time they were apart.  
  
Sensing motion towards the door, he turned his head, willing a doctor to appear and was somewhat disappointed to see a police officer stroll through the opening. He fought off the urge to sigh. He'd already been through a charming song and dance with the local police and wasn't looking forward to another encounter.  
  
"Mr. Nigel Bailey?" the officer questioned. He was tall and imposing, somewhere in his mid-forties with specks of gray already coloring his hair. He carried a large yellow envelope with a scribble of black ink across the front.  
  
Nigel stood rather wearily. He seemed to remember seeing the man at the hotel. "Yes."  
  
"I'm Lieutenant Shanahan, NYPD." His dark eyes flicked around the waiting room with the air of a soldier scouting enemy territory.  
  
"Yes," Nigel agreed again, "I'm afraid the uniform was a bit of a give away."  
  
Shanahan arched an eyebrow, and probably would have looked amused, but Nigel had a feeling the policeman rarely let anything amusing distract him. "Is there any word?"  
  
"No," the young Englishman shook his head, looking towards the doorway again. "They haven't told me anything."  
  
"Hmmph." The officer grunted, gesturing for Nigel to sit down. Once they were both seated, he held up the envelope, the black ink clearly labeling it 'Evidence.' "We believe we've located the weapon used on Ms. Fox."  
  
Nigel sat up a little straighter. "That's excellent." At last some headway! He looked at the envelope. "Is that it?"  
  
Shanahan nodded, opening the envelope and withdrawing a clear plastic bag. "It was found hidden in a potted plant in the hotel lobby."  
  
Nigel slipped on his glasses, staring at the short, thin knife sheathed in a layer of Ziploc and involuntarily gasped. "My God..." he muttered, trailing off. His horror at seeing the item responsible for nearly killing Sydney was slowly replaced with professional curiosity.  
  
"Have you seen it before?" The lieutenant probed, catching Nigel's reaction.  
  
"No," the young man shook his head, as his eyes ate up the detail of the artifact... and an artifact it was. "I mean, I've seen knives like this before, but only in museums. They're extremely rare and not usually privately owned."  
  
"Why's that?" the cop flipped out a small pencil and notebook, prepared to crib down information.  
  
"Because it's an authentic Egyptian dagger." Nigel explained. "And likely over 2,000 years old."  
  
Shanahan frowned. "Are you sure it's the real thing?"  
  
"Quite." Nigel took a pen from his pocket and pointed out a marking on the blade of the knife. "Here," he gestured. "See that?"  
  
The policeman squinted at the mark, then nodded. "What is it?"  
  
"It's the cartouche of the smith who forged the blade, I've seen it before on similar pieces. And this," he pointed towards the ornate handle. "Is also clearly made of real gold, silver, and if I'm not mistaken, ivory as well." He withdrew his pen, sticking back in his pocket. "There are probably less than fifty of them in known existence... they were generally buried with their owners and very few have been recovered. If it is truly authentic, I suspect it's worth well over $200,000."  
  
The lieutenant gaped at the knife, now seeing it in a new light. He looked around the small waiting room again as though expecting tomb robbers to spring from behind the water cooler. He coolly slid the plastic bag back in its envelope. "Do you know anyone who might have access to something like this?"  
  
The young man fought off the urge to laugh sardonically. "At a meeting of Egyptologists?" As it was, he still sounded rather incredulous. "I'm afraid any number of them could have access to it." He shook his head, causing a lock of hair to drift down across his temple. "If not from a museum, nearly everyone there has been to Egypt at one point or another. It's possible they could have bought it on the black market or perhaps found it themselves at a dig." He thought for a moment, wanting to be more helpful. "You should contact  
Dr. Robert Brickman at the British Museum, he's an expert on ancient weapons. If anyone would know the location of all the daggers like this, it would be him."  
  
The officer scribbled the name in his notebook and looked up with a genuine smile, an expression which changed his whole dour persona. "You've been a big help."  
  
Nigel wanted to smile back, but couldn't bring himself to it as the reason for his being there came crashing back around him. "I'm glad to help. Anything to catch whoever done this." The policeman rose to leave and Nigel thought of something else. "Tell me, was it poisoned?" he gestured towards the package.  
  
Shanahan shook his head. "We don't know, the blade was wiped clean. I'm on my way to lab with it now. I think the doctors here would have a better idea about any poisons in her system. I'll tell you this though, if this was the knife used against her, we'll find out."  
  
The policeman left with a friendly nod and a 'I'll be in touch.' Nigel slumped down his chair as he mulled over the new information. An Egyptian dagger, a rare one at that, discarded in a potted plant in a busy hotel lobby? Everyone there was a suspect... After all, if you were an Egyptologist on the rampage or out for revenge, what  
better way than to employ a 2,000 year-old murder weapon?  
  
There was also the matter of Sydney's last warning, which Nigel could still hear ringing in his ears. "You have to get away, 'The Viper' is here." She'd looked so intense, so worried, so scared... and he realized she hadn't only been scared for herself, she'd been scared for him. She'd warned him with her last ounce of strength to get away, terrified her fate would befall him.  
  
He didn't take it lightly.  
  
If Sydney thought there was danger, there probably was. But he couldn't leave, not now. Not with knifes being found in potted plants, not with mysterious note-passing strangers, and not with villains using reptilian code names. Sydney was his mentor and his best friend, and as long as she was alive and fighting in the hospital, he'd be there. He knew she'd do the same for him. "I'm not leaving Syd," he vowed. "Not until you can come with me."

End Part Four


	5. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 5/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, July 17, 2002

Pain…  
  
Through a haze of red, Sydney took half-conscious inventory. Her body had abandoned her directives, refusing to take another step once the elevator doors closed. She wanted to tell Nigel that she was all right, that he needed to get away, that he was in danger as long as he stayed close to her. And even while she desperately wanted her friend and assistant to get to safety, she also clung to him, ashamed of her own helplessness.  
  
Somehow, she forced her eyes open, and slowly the world coalesced around her.  
  
But she was no longer in the elevator, nor even in the motel. Sterile white ceilings intersected with equally snowy walls. A hospital… She was in a hospital.  
  
Had the Viper been stopped? "Nigel!" she screamed, but her voice was little more than a strangled whisper. Had her assistant escaped, or had their shadowy enemy made good on the promise to steal her friend away? She shuddered involuntarily, remembering the sickly feel of the ancient dagger as it slid between her ribs - and the hissing whisper in her ear. The Viper's ugly words telling her he was going to abduct her partner and best friend, and …  
  
She let her eyes flutter closed, her lip quivering with unaccustomed terror. This was supposed to be a boring but prestigious conference. Her invitation to Nigel was merely a continuation of the harmless flirtation they'd been sharing ever since they met. She threw a light, teasing morsel his way, he fumbled it perfectly, and she withdrew into benevolent professionalism. It was understood. When they were in the field, it was equally understood that she would protect him, giving her life for him, if necessary.  
  
Now, wires and tubes snaked around and over her body. Even lying down, she was shaking violently, too weak to speak. Walking was out of the question. Nigel could be dying, and she was worse than useless.  
  
She wondered if the hospital staff had discovered the secret of the poison. The Viper's name didn't spring from his peculiar lisp. It rose from his singular habit of tipping his weapons with the venom of deadly snakes. If no one suspected, if no one administered the antidote in time, his victims died in agony.  
  
"Sydney?" A soft, wonderful, sweetly familiar voice interrupted her reverie, and a gentle hand touched her cheek.  
  
Her mouth opened in a soundless `o' and tears leaked down her face. "Nigel…" Drawing a shaky breath, she willed herself to calm down. "You're all right." She reached out and took his hand, squeezing it with all her might. She needed reassurance of his solidity.  
  
"I'm fine. And the doctor says you will be, too. Fortunately the police detective was familiar with the Viper. They found the poison and administered antivenom. You won't be running any marathons soon, but you'll recover enough to go home in a few more days." Apparently emboldened by her clasp, he leaned forward and brushed a chaste kiss over her forehead.  
  
"Thank god. Nigel, you have to leave. Get out of here. He's after you. He said something about a girl, and the Ichriem. He'll kill you!"  
  
Her partner nodded grimly. "We'll leave as soon as you're able. In the meantime, you have to stop worrying. I'm fine, and there is an army of police and FBI agents outside. Nobody's going to get to either one of us. You just concentrate on getting well, all right? I'll be right here." For emphasis, he curved his other hand around hers. "I'm not going anywhere without you."

End Part Five


	6. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 6/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com ) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Saturday, July 20, 2002

Sydney sighed lightly, doing her best to squeeze Nigel's hand in return. Sweet, impossibly stubborn Nigel. He was worth more than a hundred copies of all her previous assistant's combined. God had truly smiled and given her a treasure the day he walked into her life.  
  
She'd never realized how much she'd needed someone like him, someone to help keep her feet on the ground. And the need had been mutual, as she knew he'd needed someone like her, someone to unlock all his dazzling potential. His brilliant mind had been hidden in books, withdrawn from the living world as though afraid to participate.  
  
But she'd forced him to come out and play, dragging him into the field and tossing his 'look but don't touch' philosophy out the window. She could still remember the dazzling excitement in his eyes the first time they'd retrieved a relic, it had somehow made finding it even more extraordinary.  
  
But now...  
  
Now Nigel's expressive eyes were filled with worry. The young man looked exhausted and Sydney couldn't help but wonder how much time had passed since she'd been attacked. She didn't know what time it was, or even what _day_ it was for that matter. The Viper could be who-know's-where. He could be skulking the halls of the hospital that very moment, waiting for a chance to strike, or if there were as many FBI and police involved as Nigel said, he might very well have slithered underground to bide his time. Either way, it spelled trouble.  
  
"Nigel," she tried again, trying to inject a little more strength into her weakened voice. "You don't have to wait for me." She squeezed his hand a little tighter in reassurance. "I know that you want to be here, but I want you somewhere safe. The Viper doesn't make idle threats."  
  
"And I don't make idle promises." Nigel returned in his quiet manner. 

At these words, Sydney knew she was beaten. Nothing she could say would make Nigel leave, she'd have better luck talking China into selling the Great Wall. "Where did you ever get so stubborn?" 

A light smile drifted across his features. "I learned from the master." He paused, letting silence fall between them. There were so many things he wanted to ask her, but wasn't sure where to start. The girl from the lobby, the note, the knife... Finally he decided to ask the most obvious question. "Syd," he looked down for a moment. "Who is the Viper? A detective from the police department knew his modus operandi, but couldn't really tell me very much. From what you've said, I can't help but assume you've dealt with him before."  
  
Sydney closed her eyes, remembering several things she'd rather forget. "Yes," she opened them again. Nigel deserved to know the truth. "We've crossed paths... briefly. It was a long time ago, about eight years I think. I was in Bangladesh looking for a book of rare Muslim prayers, but I wasn't the only one after it, a competitor of mine named Orlash Belonsio had hired the Viper get it for him."

She paused to catch her breath and looked towards the glass of water at her bedside. "Nigel..."  
  
"Right," Nigel needed no further prompting and carefully held the water to her lips as she took a grateful sip. "Better?"  
  
"Mmm-hmm," she muttered, savoring the cool water against her dry throat. "Orlash was greedy," she swallowed hard and continued, "but he wasn't a murderer, and I don't think he realized the kind of person he'd hired. The Viper is basically a soldier of fortune, a mercenary with his own agenda and no morals. He'd been trailing me, waiting for me to find the book so he could steal it. Obviously, I couldn't let him have it, so I lead him on a wild goose chase... I learned the location of the book, then left Bangladesh without actually retrieving it. Orlash had been staying in the same hotel to keep tabs on me, and when he saw me go, he gave up the chase."  
  
Nigel furrowed his brow. It didn't sound as though Sydney and The Viper had ever met face to face. "So you never actually saw him?"  
  
"No, I did see him once. When I was checking out of the hotel, Orlash had been in the lobby talking to a man..." she frowned. "And I just _knew_ he'd been the one following me. Call it intuition. There was nothing special about him, he was about six feet tall, dark hair, very tan... if you passed him on the street, you'd never notice."  
  
The young man leaned forward, shifting position in his chair... it was a step up from its cousin in the waiting room, but it was a short step. "So what is he doing here, now? Why did he attack you? Surely not over a book of prayers."  
  
Sydney smiled weakly. "No, not for the prayer book." The smile melted away. "He's after Ichriem, and he thinks I know where it is, worse, he thinks you know too Nigel."  
  
"Ichriem? Syd, I..." He was interrupted as the door swung open and a rather portly nurse walked through the entrance. Her eyes fixed firmly on the young Englishman.  
  
"Mr. Bailey," she intoned, sounding for the world like a school marm who caught someone passing notes in class. "Visiting hours ended ten minutes ago."  
  
At this, Sydney looked amused.  
  
Nigel cringed, managing to appear incredibly chagrined. "I'm sorry Mrs. Goldmeyer, but you know how much I've needed to talk to Sydney." He'd gotten to know the nurse a little bit after Syd had been moved to a private room.  
  
Nurse Goldmeyer softened her voice to a motherly tone. "I know you've needed to talk to her, that's why I've let you stay here ten minutes longer than you should have. Lt. Shanahan has been waiting for you at the nurse's station. You need to go with him and get some sleep and let my patient do the same."  
  
"But..." Nigel began to protest.  
  
The nurse would have none of it though. "You can talk to her again tomorrow."  
  
"It's okay Nigel," Sydney spoke before Nigel had a chance. "You look exhausted, go get some sleep, we can finish this in the morning."  
  
"All right," he agreed, knowing there was nothing else he could do. "But I want you to know, this whole floor is under surveillance, and there'll be an officer sitting in the hallway around the clock. The Viper won't be able to reach you here."  
  
"I'm not worried about me." She looked into his eyes. "I want _you_ to be careful Nigel. He may not be in here, but he is out there somewhere. If he thinks you know anything..." She trailed off, trying not think of what the Viper could do. "Don't take any risks," she ordered. "Promise me."  
  
Nigel met her gaze, seeing a myriad of emotions staring back at him. Hope, pain, and fear all blazed from her eyes, all coated with a thick layer of concern. It almost frightened him to know how much Sydney was worried about him. Her run-in with The Viper had shaken her up more than he'd ever seen her. "I promise," he assured her. "Don't worry."  
  
"Mr. Bailey," the nurse sing-songed.  
  
"I'm just saying good-bye," the young man defended. He squeezed Sydney's hand and released it. "I'll see you tomorrow Syd. Get some rest."  
  
"I will... Take care Nigel." She called after him, and he turned and smiled at her as the nurse shooed him out the door.  
  
Sydney leaned back on her pillow with a silent prayer and stared up at the bland white ceiling. Why couldn't they paint a nice mural up there? Given how many people were invariably stuck in hospitals staring up at the ceiling, they could at least hang a poster up there. Before she could start speculating about anything else, the nurse re-entered the room looking somewhat amused.  
  
"He's been here for hours waiting for you to wake up." Mrs. Goldmeyer made conversation while wandering over to check Sydney's blood pressure. "He seems like a nice boy, a little stubborn though."  
  
Sydney looked at the nurse, allowing a faint smile to touch her lips. "You have no idea."

End Part Six


	7. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 7/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, July 24, 2002

Exhausted or not, Nigel was far too agitated to sleep. His fingers toyed with the slip of paper and its cryptic message. _Ichriem..._ What was _Ichriem?_ It certainly sounded Egyptian, though its exact translation eluded him. 

Exhausted or not, Nigel was far too agitated to sleep. His fingers toyed with the slip of paper and its cryptic message. Ichriem… What was Ichriem? It certainly sounded Egyptian, though its exact translation eluded him. 

He showered and pulled on clean boxers, and now half-reclined in the king-sized bed. All three pillows were wedged beneath his back, the luxurious sateen pillowcases absorbing the last remnants of moisture from his skin. Still wet, his hair was combed straight back, and a pair of dark-rimmed glasses sat over his nose. Glasses or no, his eyes were not cooperating tonight with his attempts to read and re-read the note. 

The paper itself caught his attention very quickly. It wasn't standard 80-pound stuff you'd drop into your copy machine. Its weight and texture spoke of custom order, a supposition borne out by the faint gold leaf that edged the deckled bottom. It was merely a corner from a larger sheet. It looked like it had been torn away quickly, ripped so hurriedly that the tops of a couple of letters were taken off in the process. 

_Ichriem._

Frustration tore at him and he stifled the urge to scream. He might have carried through were it not for the armed guard stationed outside his door. 

It was damned curious. The police investigator grilled him to see what he knew about the Viper, claiming to need whatever information Nigel could provide. Yet that same detective, after walking away for fewer than five minutes, returned a virtual font of information on the mysterious person. Shanahan recounted horrible stories about the killer, in blood-curdling detail. It might have made a suspicious man question sources, but for one thing. 

It was Shanahan's information that led to the discovery of the poison. With his help, it was just a matter of identifying the species of snake venom and administering an antidote. Had it not been for the detective's intervention, Sydney would be dead. As it was, the anti-venom was nearly too late. Her life hung in the balance for several hours before the crisis passed. 

Nigel yanked off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. Every time he thought about how close he'd come to losing his mentor and friend, it tore his heart out. Tears stung his eyes again. He didn't yet know who this Viper fellow was, but for once, Nigel wanted the honor of throttling the man with his own bare hands. The little Englishman had received a rude awakening, in more ways than one. He was used to a strong Sydney, an in-charge Sydney. He admired and respected her, and that hadn't changed. 

Only through this, he'd come to discover another facet, one which drew him even more powerfully. For perhaps the first time, he saw a vulnerable Sydney, a very human Syd. He realized that he truly wanted to defend her, to save her, as she'd done for him time and time again. 

It wasn't about being a man, though Nigel admittedly still struggled with that from time to time. 

It was about needing to protect someone who was becoming increasingly important to him. Sydney Fox was more like his family than his own brother was. He didn't exactly regard her like a sister, though. More like... 

An _Ichriem._

The translation hit him suddenly, its meaning crystal clear in a way he never would have understood even a few months earlier. It meant the other half of a soul, the twin in heart and mind. In ancient Egyptian, it didn't necessarily carry the romantic connotations of _soul-mate_, though that was one possible meaning. 

He stared at the scrap of paper, wondering at the reference. Was the terrified young woman trying to imply that she was his Ichriem, or was this evidence of a relic named in honor of the ideal? And to what did _MT 10:30-BMR_ refer? He bit his lip, puzzled anew. _MT_ – could that refer to _Mountain Time?_ That would make sense, coupled with THE _10:30._ But what about _BMR?_ No matter how he looked at it, the mystery remained a mystery, and he was no closer to knowing why it was so important to an international fugitive known only as the Viper. 

Yawning, he shuffled over to turn off the light, still pondering the message. Once the light was out, he turned to walk back to his bed, but tripped over the shoes he'd dropped in his exhaustion. Swearing, he pushed himself up, but dropped back immediately when his window was shattered with the impact of a bullet. He didn't raise his head for a good five minutes. When he finally did gather the courage to look, his knees threatened to give way. 

The bullet left a hole in the dead center of the pillow. Had he not tripped, it would have gone through his head, killing him instantly. 

Nigel swallowed, suddenly incapable of speech. He stumbled to the door, not caring about his state of undress. Too upset to speak, he simply reached out to shake the police officer propped against the door jamb. 

The officer's head lolled to one side and he slid to the floor, his eyes staring vacantly into space. A crimson pattern blossomed on his shirt, dark and red and sticky. 

This time, Nigel's knees _did_ give way. His eyes darted around the empty corridor as he tried to figure out where the enemy was. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. He knew he was being watched, and that the watcher was the Viper. Finally, unable to do more, he backed into his room and turned the deadbolt. He was shaking so hard it took him three tries to turn on the light. 

When he did, he didn't benefit from the illumination. A heavy object connected with the back of his head and he slumped to the floor. 

David Blount still held the butt end of the pistol. The bald man stared impassively at his captive. "Okay, boss, he's all yours." The older man turned to a shadow in the opposite corner of the room. There was a blur of movement and Blount stared in horror at the red stain in his own shirt. Seconds later, he too crumbled into a heap, dead from the fast-acting poison. 

The unconscious Nigel was long gone before daylight broke.

End Part Seven


	8. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 8/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com ) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, July 28, 2002

Some people said crime didn't pay... but they'd obviously never found the right crime. As the old saying went, good things came to those who waited.  
  
The Viper securely fastened nylon ropes around the wrists of his captive and stood back to study his handiwork.

Capturing Nigel Bailey, the earnest assistant of Sydney Fox, had been a mild challenge at best. The boy had predictably gone to the hospital, trailing after his wounded mentor... And if that fool Blount had done his job at the ballroom, he never would have gotten that far. The fat man had been a rank amateur, hired cheap and ultimately killed cheaper. Society certainly wouldn't mourn the loss for long.  
  
On the other hand, society might well mourn the loss of the young man lying before him on a thin, narrow cot. The Viper had been in the business a long time, longer than the unconscious _boy_ had even been alive. It was his job to know something valuable when he found it, and Bailey had much more value alive than dead.  
  
Research was the Viper's best tool, having always made it his business to know his prey. Sydney Fox was, of course, a well-known relic hunter. She was admired, trusted, respected... it turned his stomach to think of the valuable relics she'd happily _given_ away to worthless museums over the years. Her family was nothing exceptional. She was an only child, her father was an engineer... globetrotting in his work and well off, but not fantastically wealthy.

No money there.

Her assistant though was another story, and a much more appealing one.

He was the youngest son of a distinguished British family, his parents had been killed in a freak car accident, and on his thirtieth birthday in several more years, he was heir to half of a very impressive fortune. Even if Nigel Bailey knew nothing about Ichriem, he was still worth millions to his older brother in ransom.  
  
He'd snagged the proverbial golden goose, and that incompetent Blount had gotten trigger-happy and almost killed it before it laid a single egg.  
  
The Viper took a seat on the edge of the cot, pressing two fingers on the side of the young man's throat... the pulse was still slow; he'd probably be unconscious a while longer. The mercenary smiled to himself. Half the fun of kidnapping Bailey would be the unflappable Sydney Fox's reaction to it.  
  
The look on her face at the hotel when he'd originally threatened her assistant's life had been priceless. He could only imagine her reaction at learning the young man was actually missing.  
  
He could see it all now... there she'd be, lying prone in her hospital bed, then suddenly the police would burst in and tell her the news. She'd be furious of course, shocked, scared... he nearly laughed. She'd probably try to jump out of bed right then and there to join the search effort. But then, that was why rattlesnake was his favorite poison.  
  
By the time Fox was well enough to start looking, he'd be long gone, taking her faithful sidekick with him.  
  
Yes, the operation had been smooth so far, the only two snags being Blount's bungling and the rather unfortunate involvement of the FBI. Experience had taught him the local police were blithering idiots, more eager to examine a jelly donut than a smoking gun, but the feds were always a bit trickier.  
  
He knew they had a file on him, but then, so did the CIA, SVR, MI-6, and any other national security agency worth its salt. No matter how good he was, it was impossible to spend half his life stealing antiquities, assassinating politicians, kidnapping billionaires, and poisoning any rival that crossed his path without attracting a little notice.  
  
But files alone were nothing... meager lists of a few scattered activities. They had no grainy photograph, no smudged fingerprints, no abandoned scrap of clothing, nothing to know him except his trademark poisons. He was still a rumor, and still just as anonymous as the day he'd begun.  
  
He slid his hand from checking Nigel's pulse and stood, glancing around the room. The décor of the office in the airplane hanger left much to be desired... a worn desk, the thin cot, and a telephone so antiquated it was nearly a relic itself... but it didn't matter. Within an hour his private jet would be gassed and ready and he'd be in the air, far from the filthy streets of New York and closer than ever to Ichriem.  
  
The Viper smiled. Sydney Fox may have outsmarted him eight years before, but now he had the upper hand, and the prayers of a hundred Muslim prayer books wouldn't help her.

End Part Eight


	9. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 9/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Thursday, August 1, 2002

He wondered how she would take the news. 

Loren Shanahan sucked in his breath and rapped his knuckles against the solid wood of the hospital door. He was convinced early on that Bailey wasn't responsible for the attack on Sydney Fox. Then this morning, when the young man didn't put in an appearance at either the hospital or the convention, the detective wondered if he should backpedal and reconsider his earlier assessment. 

Finding a dead cop outside the kid's hotel room, Shanahan figured it would be pretty cut-and-dried. Either he'd find a dead relic hunter inside the colonial door, or Bailey was the killer. 

Fifteen years as an investigator normally gave him a decent head start on figuring people out. He couldn't entirely classify the two relic hunters, though. Sydney Fox was one classy lady. She was self-assured, poised, and brilliant, aside from her renown for the recovery of historic treasures. A brief meeting stuck with Shanahan. She was a sharp cookie. She brooked no nonsense. She was a very put-together woman in one awfully spectacular package. 

The assistant was a different matter. The inimitable Professor Fox seemed downright fond of the kid, for some reason. There had to be more to him than met the eye. 

Bailey came across as a bit ditzy, sometimes almost clownish. Shanahan believed it was purely a façade, and he set out to prove it. The paths were too similar to be coincidence. Where Sydney Fox went, the Viper put in an appearance. Fox herself was pretty clearly above-board. But the little twit of an Englishman was a bit more enigmatic. 

Bailey wasn't in Bailey's motel room, though David Samuel Blount was. Or rather, the _late_ David Samuel Blount was. 

It took pathologists a few hours to pinpoint the specific poison. The rapidity of death narrowed things down. In its native Africa, the black mamba was known as the _bottoms up snake_ because the victim would have time for one drink before succumbing in death.* One stroke with the hollow-tipped knife administered four times the venom of a single snakebite. A bite in the wild could kill within twenty minutes. This assault probably brought paralysis within seconds and death shortly after. 

Straightening his tie, Shanahan pushed the door open and stopped short at the pale, hollow-eyed apparition stretched out on the hospital bed. She was alive and recovering, but she was by no means a healthy woman. 

"Miss Fox?" 

Her head turned toward him and she frowned. "Do I know you?" 

_Succinct and to the point,_ he thought. "I'm Detective Shanahan of the New York City Police Department." Her expression shifted subtly, and he sensed he'd just gained a measure of trust. Encouraged by her reaction, he smiled and strode forward, easing into a gray vinyl chair. 

"Shanahan? You spoke to Nigel, then? I understand you're partly responsible for saving my life. Thank you." 

His smile faded instantly. "Miss Fox, about your assistant. How well do you know him?" _Oh God, what if she'd started up an affair with the international criminal?_

"He's my assistant and my friend. I've known him for a couple of years, during which we've worked together pretty closely. Why?" Unease crept into her voice. "Is he all right?" She licked her lips, and the unease approached panic. "Where is he?" 

"I know you've heard of the Viper. What if I told you that I believe your young assistant may be the Viper." 

Clutching her side, Sydney Fox howled with laughter. 

"I'm serious," he defended. 

"No, you're insane."

End Part Nine


	10. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 10/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by me, Trinity Day (trinityday@hotmail.com) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, August 11, 2002

The first thing he noticed when he woke up was that his head hurt.

Actually, he didn't as much notice it as the resonant pounding thumping through his head made him all too painfully aware of it. A slight moan escaped his lips.

The second thing he noticed was that it was dark.

Well, that was easily remedied. Nigel had learned long ago that, nine times out of ten, opening his eyes was the solution.

He opened them.

Unfortunately, this turned out to be one of the other times. He couldn't see anything, even now that his eyes were opened. However, his eyelashes had brushed against something when he opened them, and he figured that something was covering his eyes.

When he went to move whatever it was, he discovered that his wrists were bound together.

"You're awake." The voice was low and masculine, but Nigel couldn't tell anything else from the voice. It didn't sound familiar.

"Where am I? What happened?" he demanded – at least he tried to. His voice cracked and he broke off coughing.

The mystery man held a glass up to his lips, and Nigel gulped down the water gratefully.

"You weren't supposed to wake up yet," the man said, pulling the glass away once Nigel had drained the contents.

"Who are you?" Nigel demanded again. "What's happening?"

"You forget 'where am I?'" the man said, sounding amused.

But Nigel didn't appreciate the humour. He suddenly felt drowsy and, despite his best efforts, started to nod off. "What did you do to me?" His words started to slur together and he barely heard the answer before losing consciousness once again.

"Don't worry. It's not snake venom, like I prefer, but it will do."

"Viper."

~*~

Sydney stopped laughing when she found out why the police suspected Nigel.

"What do you mean, he's gone?" Panic gripped her and despite Shanahan's urges that she lie down and not strain herself, she wouldn't get back into bed.

"Ms. Fox," Shanahan tried again. "You aren't well. You barely survived the rattlesnake poison. Please, calm yourself."

"How can Nigel be missing? You said you were going to assign him a police officer! I told you the Viper was after him!"

"We did." To add to her anger, Shanahan didn't seem to be ruffled at all that Sydney was carrying on like that. He just stood there, cool and calm, with an all-too professional air. Nigel was gone, and instead of helping her look for him, he had decided to blame the Englishman instead. "He's dead now. He was found outside of Bailey's room, shot."

"It wasn't Nigel."

Shanahan closed his notebook. "Ms. Fox," he said formally, "I understand that you're going through a lot right now. However, anything you can tell us would be of great value."

"Nigel isn't the Viper," Sydney repeated, teeth gritted.

Shanahan didn't budge, either. "I'll come back tomorrow," he said. "Maybe then . . ." He trailed off, obviously not wanting to incite Sydney further. "The Viper is an extremely dangerous criminal, Ms. Fox. Anything you can tell us will help us find and capture him." He turned and left.

"He's not Nigel!" Sydney yelled at the closing door.

As furious as she was at the moment over the police officer's stubbornness, Sydney wasn't going to sit around and wait for the authorities to realize how stupid it was to suspect Nigel. The instant the door had closed she was on the phone. She had the feeling she knew where the Viper had gone, and where he was, Nigel would be.

"Ancient Studies," the chipper voice of Claudia greeted. "How may I help you?"

"Claudia? It's Sydney."

"Syd?" Claudia instantly became concerned. "How are you? Are you feeling better?"

"I'm fine," Sydney quickly assured her. "Look, I need a favour. I need you to book me the next available flight to Cairo."

"Cairo? You mean Egypt?"

"Of course Egypt," Sydney snapped. Instantly she felt bad for losing her temper with Claudia, but it hadn't been a good day.

"Are you sure you're up to it? I thought Nigel said you wouldn't be getting out of the hospital for another couple days."

"Just book the flight, Claudia," Sydney said firmly.

"Okay, okay," Claudia said, not willing to fight with her boss any further. "Two tickets? Is Nigel going with you?

"No," Sydney said, swallowing hard. "Just me."  
  
End Part Ten  



	11. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 11/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com ) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Saturday, August 17, 2002

Sydney hung up the bland hospital phone, letting it haplessly clatter in its cradle. Until that moment she'd never considered herself a coward, but was now forced to admit she'd chickened out.  
  
She hadn't told Claudia about Nigel. 

It was probably stupid. After all, didn't the wispy secretary deserve to know? She was as much Nigel's friend as anyone, and although Claudia would certainly never admit it or act on it, Sydney suspected she nursed a slight crush on the young Englishman. But then, so did half the girls in her 'Intro to Archeology' lecture... a fact to which Nigel remained naïvely unaware.  
  
Claudia was generally a perky optimist, seeing sunshine and rainbows where other people saw only shadows and storm clouds. But learning Nigel was in the hands of an international mercenary might be too much for her to coat with a silver lining.  
  
If Claudia broke down and cried over the phone... if the eternal optimist lost hope, Sydney wasn't sure she could deal with it. Any comfort she tried to offer the secretary would be hollow. How could she just sit and spout platitudes and say 'everything will be all right' when nothing was further from the truth?  
  
Yes, the secretary did deserve to know, but not now, not before something was certain.  
  
Sydney stared up the ceiling, something she'd been doing too much of lately. *Damn Shanahan* How could the man possibly believe Nigel and The Viper were one in the same? Worse yet, believe that she knew it and was protecting him! Had he gone to detective school over the Internet?  
  
How anyone could meet Nigel, talk to him, and believe he was a wanted criminal in a dozen countries was beyond comprehension. Shanahan had obviously seen one too many black and white movies. Maybe in the world of fiction the meek grad student would turn out to be someone like Bond, James Bond, but in real life? The old 'least likely suspect is the best suspect' game seldom panned out.

Sydney shifted position slightly, wincing as the movement pulled at the row of fresh stitches in her back.  
  
First order of business was to get out of the hospital and to the airport. Nigel, bless his heart, had brought a bag with a fresh change of clothes for her release. If she could just get dressed and make it past the guard who was no doubt lurking outside the door, she'd be home free.  
  
She chewed her lip... those were all things easier said than done. The poison had left her too weak; she'd be lucky if she could fight off a fluffy bunny, much less an armed member of the NYPD.  
  
What she needed was help. She knew several people in New York City, but unfortunately none of them had any sway with law enforcement. If only there was a way to convince Shanahan how wrong he was, he might help her leave the hospital. But how to do it? If she could just get the man to sit down and _listen_ to her, she had no doubt she could make him see reason.  
  
She began mulling over a few ideas until a sudden voice outside the door snapped her from her thoughts. Chances were good it was just a doctor about to walk in and give her another round of probing, but with The Viper on the loose, she'd made sure to scout the room for possible weapons. Her best bet in case any unwanted snakes slithered in was to snatch the IV rack, although she seriously wondered if she could actually lift the thing or not.  
  
As the door opened, her hand inched towards the metal stand just in case, then abruptly froze as she caught sight of the person entering the room.  
  
The newcomer was dressed in black, from his polished shoes and dark slacks to his sports jacket and tie. A pair of sunglasses protruded from the top of his kerchief pocket. He was a muscular man, somewhere in his early-to-mid thirties, and possessed steel blue eyes which reflected little of his emotional state.  
  
The man let the door close softly behind him and took a look at the figure in the bed. A light smile graced his lips. "Hello Sydney," he greeted, moving a little closer. From behind his back he suddenly produced a bouquet of bright yellow daisies. "You can't seem to stay out of trouble can you?" The tone was both teasing and serious. "And this time I had nothing to do with it."  
  
Still in a state of disbelief, Sydney reached out and took the bouquet. "What are _you_ doing here?" She tried to keep the shock from her voice, and wondered how successful she was.  
  
The man pulled up the visitor's chair and straddled it backwards. "I came to see you. News travels fast in my circles you know." He gave her the once over, allowing his smooth brow to furrow. "The bastard really got you didn't he? The doctor's say you're doing well though."  
  
"Yeah," she agreed grimly, setting the flowers aside. "He got me... in more ways than one."  
  
"I know." The man nodded, a note of sadness crept into his tone. "I heard about Nigel... and I'm sorry." He shook his head. "The cops around here are certifiable, thinking he might be The Viper. If Shanahan bothered to check the FBI profile, he'd know it was impossible unless Nigel's either a master of disguise or the youngest 50-year old in the world."  
  
"Well, at least you believe me," Sydney groused, which brought her to something else. "And you didn't answer my question: What are you doing here anyway? I'm sure you didn't just _happen_ to know what's been going on."  
  
"I never 'just happen' to know anything," he confirmed. "I'm after The Viper Syd. This guy's on everyone's top ten list, if we can get him it will make a lot of people very happy... including you."  
  
"What do you want?" She tried to sound appropriately suspicious, but couldn't believe her luck, this could very well be her ticket out.  
  
"Information."  
  
"What makes you think I know anything?"  
  
The man leaned forward, tilting slightly in the chair. "Because I know you're lying here in this bed with a knife wound in your back. Because I know a dead man was found in your assistant's hotel room, and because your assistant himself is now missing. And finally, I know that less than fifteen minutes ago a first class ticket was purchased under your name on a TransAtlantis airline flight from New York to London, final destination Cairo." He grinned and let the chair plunk back on all four legs. "Feel free to jump in and contradict me."  
  
Sydney opened and closed her mouth, finally crossing her arms over her chest. "Well if you know all that, why do you need me at all? You seem to be doing fine on your own."  
  
"What's in Cairo Sydney? Is that where you think The Viper's taken Nigel?" He paused for a moment. "Is that where Ichriem is?"  
  
The relic hunter looked up in surprise. "What do you know about Ichriem?"  
  
"Absolutely nothing," he confessed. "Aside from the fact that The Viper is after it, and apparently wants it pretty badly. Are you going to tell me what's so special about this thing? What it is?"  
  
"Maybe." Now it was bargaining time. "If you get me out of this hospital and to the airport in time to catch my plane."  
  
The man arched an eyebrow, then gestured towards the assorted medical devices in the room. "Do you really think you're up for that?"  
  
Sydney pushed herself up in bed, choosing to ignore the question "Look, Nigel's been missing for hours, and I know I don't have any proof, but I'm willing to bet The Viper's already left the country... he could be in Egypt by now. Every hour, every minute that goes by gives him that much more of a head start." She hated to think how much time had already passed. "So are you going to help me so I can help you, or are you going to sit there and ask questions?"  
  
The darkly dressed man stared at her with his unreadable blue eyes, then nodded. "All right." He stood, turning the chair around to its original position. "I'll take care of the cops, you get dressed and be ready to go in half an hour. I'll pick you up and you can tell me all about this Ichriem thing on the way to the airport." He held out his hand. "Is it a deal?"  
  
Sydney held out her hand and grasped his in a firm shake. "It's a deal."  
  
"Good." The man nodded, and with a smile, turned to leave the room. "Oh, and one more thing..." he added as he opened the door. "It's nice to work with you again."  
  
And Derek Lloyd was out the door and gone before Sydney could reply.

End Part Eleven


	12. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 12/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, August 21, 2002

Claudia didn't like it. 

Sydney was going off to Egypt alone, and nobody answered Nigel's cell phone. Nigel _never_ let go of the phone. It would have to be surgically detached from his hand when he died. 

Oh, now that was the wrong thought. A shiver ran through the secretary's slender body. Something was definitely wrong, she knew it. _Well of course something's wrong, you idiot! Sydney's in the hospital!_ It stood to reason that Sydney shouldn't be headed for Cairo. And here was Claudia, typing in reservations and pulling all necessary strings to get Syd's passport updated and a visa issued. 

Something must have happened to Nigel. It was the only possible answer. 

The moderately large package on Sydney's desk must be important. It was wrapped in plain brown paper and addressed in dark marker, with no return address. Claudia bit her lip again, then pulled up an address in her computer. In light of the horror in New York, you couldn't just book a flight overseas, not any more, and especially not to the Middle East. On the other hand, it wasn't like there were no airplanes, and it _was_ official school business. She edged closer to Sydney's desk just as the phone rang. 

"Ancient Studies." Making a face, she aborted her original intent to pick up the box. She knew better than to shake it hard, of course, but she might at least get a few ideas. Was it some large, heavy object that took up the whole box? Was it something tiny but fragile, locked in a prison of bubble wrap and tape? Or was it something entirely new? 

With Sydney's job, you never knew. 

"Claudia?" 

She brightened, smoothing her skirt. "Nigel! I thought something might have happened to you! Sydney's in the hospital. Are you there with her?" 

His voice was weary and unsteady. "No, Claudia, but I need you to do something for me." There was the sound of flesh striking flesh and Nigel cried out. "All right, I'm telling her!" His words were rushed now, tumbling one after another in a desperate bid to get his message through, no matter what it cost him. "Claudia, you have to keep Sydney away from here. The Viper is looking for Ichriem, and he knows we have it – " 

Amid sounds of struggle, an entirely new voice came on line - a masculine voice, somehow familiar and elusive, hovering just beyond her memory. "If you want the kid sent home in one piece, I want the Ichriem and I want it now." 

Claudia shivered again. Between the eerie voice of the speaker and the muffled cries from Nigel, she put together a very ugly picture. "Look, I have it, but you'll have to authenticate it yourself. Just tell me where Nigel is and I'll drive over and pick him up. That way you don't have to worry about it." 

"Oh, no, my little dandelion head. You can't drive where we are. You can only get here by caravan, and it's quite the exclusive party. Invitation only, in fact. Of course, if you really do have the Ichriem, you will be invited to join us, possibly even compelled to do so." 

~*~ 

Heat set the air dancing around him. Even across the room, the lines of the mosaic-topped table wavered and snaked like a thing alive. Overhead, a ceiling fan moved in slow, steady circles. Nigel wondered if it was intended to cool or merely to distribute the inferno throughout the room. 

He leaned forward, nursing his head. He vaguely recalled answering questions. His memory, though not terribly reliable right now, plugged in a lot of phrases that mostly boiled down to _I don't know._ His throat ached, the aftereffects of Sodium Pentothal. A clear pitcher of ice water sat just out of his reach, one of several gestures from the kidnapper. The Viper now knew that Nigel didn't have the Ichriem, and that the Englishman didn't know where it was. Nigel knew his usefulness was nearing its end, and that he was about to die. With that fatalistic state of mind, he let his thoughts meander into previously forbidden territory. 

Sweat trickled from his forehead, following the contours of his face and dripping to the floor. The damp spots might have been tears, but he was strangely unafraid. His merciless memory reminded him of all of the times he cowered in terror while a lone Sydney defended herself, defending him in the process. He didn't waste time being ashamed. He was too busy savoring every memory of his friend, and embraced his secret crush. _Okay,_ he admitted to himself, _maybe not so secret. She knew and did her best to protect your feelings._

A rough hemp rope bit into his ankles and wrists, tethering him to the heavy iron bed. He stopped trying to free himself. He couldn't lift the bed and couldn't untie the rope. He wasn't going to get away this time. 

The only luxury in this corner of hell was the lumpy bed. He stretched out on the bare mattress, trying to ignore the smell of human waste that clung to it. Without hope, he had nothing left but dreams. His eyes closed and he smiled as a sweet, familiar face smiled back at him. "Sydney," he said. The word fell from his parched lips in a cross between a sigh and a prayer.

End Part Twelve


	13. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 13/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Snaggle (Solza) ( snaggletaz@yahoo.com ). **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, September 1, 2002

Sydney knew leaving the hospital in her weakened state was a mistake, she could barely walk straight, but she had no other choice. Nigel's life was at stake and she would do anything including giving up her own to save his. She still could not believe her luck, Derek Lloyd had almost appeared out of nowhere, offering his services, she knew it was for his own selfish reasons, but she didn't care, she would take any help she could get.  
  
Derek sat quietly as the plane took off remembering his last encounter with Sydney and the dance they had shared in her office. She completely intrigued him, her sensuality, stubbornness and single- mindedness in the pursuit of a goal which unfortunately this time was not a relic, but a life....Nigel's life. He had to admit to himself that he liked the kid and hoped he was okay, but knowing the Viper as he did, he didn't truly believe that for one moment.  
  
He debated, if he should tell Sydney what he knew about Nigel, but looking at her now, the deep worry and pain that showed in her eyes he knew it would help ease her guilt somewhat.  
  
"I think the Viper was after Nigel all along and it had nothing to do with Ichriem."  
  
"What?" Sydney said startled out of her thoughts.  
  
"How much do you know about Nigel's family?" he said as he looked out the window of the plane before facing her.  
  
She looked at him, not sure were he was going with this. " Not much, I've meet his brother Preston, he seems nice enough, but he has never really spoke much about his parents."  
  
"That's understandable." he paused "Has Nigel ever talked to you about his family's holdings, his inheritance?"  
  
"No he hasn't."  
  
She looked at him a million thoughts going through he mind. She had seen his family's home the last time they had been in London, it was a very impressive and beautiful manor, but she had never really thought about it until now. Nigel's family had to have been extremely well off to have a home like that and she remembered the new Jaguar that Preston drove as she contemplated Derek's words. 

" I'll cut straight to the chase than. When Nigel's parents died their estate was worth around eight million dollars. The will split the estate equally between their sons." He saw the comprehension in Sydney's eyes. "The money had been put into trusts for each one until they reached their thirtieth birthday. The money was invested wisely and when Nigel claims his part of the inheritance his estimated worth will be around twelve million dollars."

End Part Thirteen  



	14. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 14/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com ) **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Friday, September 13, 2002

Sydney stared at Derek Lloyd in momentary disbelief, suddenly having the odd feeling she'd stumbled into the Twilight Zone. "Twelve million dollars?" she echoed, turning the number over in her mind. When she spoke again, her voice was distracted and distant. "I had no idea."  
  
Money always held little fascination for Sydney... it was nice to have because of the freedom it allowed, but she'd never entertained ideas of hoarding it like a crotchety Victorian miser.  
  
She was practical, she deposited regularly into her savings account, invested in certificates of deposit and rare coins, and even dabbled a little in the stock market. She'd built herself a nice little nest egg, if she did say so herself.  
  
But Nigel... She had to admit, she'd never considered his financial situation. The idea he was anything more than middle-class had just never occurred to her. Yet now, thinking about it, she realized all the clues had been there.  
  
She knew Nigel had gone to boarding school, then on to Oxford, neither of which were cheap. He had then moved to America for his graduate work, but unlike most international students, Nigel had no roommate to help with expenses and lived alone in a fully furnished apartment. And after seeing his family home in England...  
  
Sydney looked back to Derek. "How did you find out about this?"  
  
"I did some checking as soon as he was reported missing." He shook his head. "I was as surprised as you are." He reached under the seat for his briefcase. "Most of the information is a matter of public record. The car accident that killed his parents was no secret... it made the front page of the newspaper." He popped the lock on the briefcase and withdrew a folder. "See for yourself."  
  
Sydney accepted the folder and curiously flipped it open. Inside lay photocopies of what appeared to be the front pages of three different newspapers. The headline on the first sheet jumped out at her: 'Drunk Driver Claims Two Lives'. She flipped forward and read the next two: 'Dr. Preston Bailey III Killed in Accident' and 'Local Couple Killed in Fatal Crash'.  
  
As she glanced at the papers, Sydney couldn't help but feel she was invading Nigel's privacy. The young man had never mentioned his parents aside from the time Claudia began barraging him with questions about what he would be doing over Christmas vacation... if he would be going to see his family. Nigel softly admitted they had died, and Claudia immediately looked like she wanted to sink through the floor in shame. The secretary had apologized profusely, but Nigel waved her off, telling her not to worry about it, and clearly not wanting to discuss the subject.  
  
She flipped back to the first article, quickly glancing through the contents and learning several things she hadn't know. Apparently Nigel's father had been a professor of archeology at Cambridge and also head of their antiquities department. His wife, Nigel's mother, Adeline had also worked at Cambridge, but as professor of English literature. The article praised them both to no end, expounding on how popular they'd been with students and the community at large.  
  
As the paper described it, the couple had been on their way home from a benefit concert... evidently being well-known local philanthropists. The night had been damp and foggy like many in England, and traffic moved along at a steady but cautious pace.  
  
Then everything changed in an instant.  
  
A drunk driver careened recklessly in the lane of on-coming traffic, being closely pursued by two police cars in a high-speed chase. The drunk lost control, plunging into the opposite lane of traffic at over 128 km/h... which Sydney mentally translated to about 80 miles per hour. The Bailey's car had been right in his path, taking the full force of the collision. The coroner believed their deaths had been instantaneous. The drunk driver had also been killed at impact.  
  
Sydney finished the articles and closed the folder, taking a deep breath and blinking back unshed tears. It had been a senseless tragedy caused by a single senseless person. It was no wonder now why Nigel never talked about it.  
  
Regaining control, Sydney passed the file back to Derek, who had a surprisingly sympathetic look on his face. "I know," he nodded to her unspoken thoughts. "It was a stupid waste," he commented, stuffing the file back in his briefcase.  
  
Sydney caught something in his tone and watched him as he crammed the briefcase back under the seat. A muscle in his jaw twitched and she suddenly had the feeling Nigel wasn't immediately alone in losing someone to a drunk driver.  
  
"Yes it was," she agreed. Derek didn't seem to be in the mood to explain his reaction, and Sydney wasn't going to pry. "All right," she moved back to the topic at hand, "so you think The Viper might have seen these articles and decided to kidnap Nigel for a ransom? It seems kind of farfetched. Why didn't he do it years ago then?"  
  
Derek shook his head. "Because he couldn't have gotten anything. Remember the money was locked in trusts. Nigel still won't be able to claim his part for several years, but on April 5th of this year, his brother turned thirty."  
  
Sydney closed her eyes briefly. "And got his part of the inheritance," she finished. Realization dawned like a bitter sunrise. "How much was it?"  
  
"About 11 million dollars."  
  
*Eleven million dollars* Sydney considered the figure then swore, hoping none of the other first class passengers were eavesdropping. "So he'll send Preston a ransom note, probably demanding his whole inheritance for Nigel's return."  
  
"Most likely." Derek agreed. "If his brother hasn't heard anything yet, he will soon. It's just as well this plane goes to London, I think we should pay him a visit when we land." He looked at his flying companion and noticed a puzzled, thoughtful expression on her face. "What are you thinking?"  
  
"I'm thinking this doesn't make any sense." She shook her head. "If he was after Nigel all along, why did he attack me at the hotel and want information about Ichriem? It's a very obscure legend, hardly anyone knows about it. And Nigel..." she paused remembering his reaction at the hospital when she'd told him about the attack. "He didn't seem very surprised when I mentioned Ichriem at the hospital... I think he was about to ask me something about it before the nurse interrupted us. How did he know?"  
  
Derek seemed to contemplate the question. "I think I know." 

"You do?"  
  
He reached into his pocket, pulling out a slip of paper. "This was found near the bed in Nigel's hotel room." He passed the note to Sydney. "I originally thought The Viper or maybe Blount had dropped it," he shook his head. "But leaving behind clues isn't The Viper's style, he's been in business too long to be suddenly get sloppy." He paused while Sydney unfolded the note. "The only thing that really makes any sense is if Nigel dropped it."  
  
Sydney frowned as she read the note. "Ichriem is found. MT 10:30-BMR." She turned the paper around and studied the back, then flipped it back and stared at the letters again. "This isn't Nigel's handwriting... it looks like it was done by a woman." She looked curiously at Derek Lloyd, noticing his blue eyes watching her expectantly... he obviously hoped she could explain it.  
  
"Well?" he prompted.  
  
"MT 10:30 BMR..." she muttered. It didn't ring any bells, but it had to mean something. BMR? Initials maybe. But she couldn't think of anyone they might belong to. Maybe it meant a building, a town, a business. The whole situation grew more frustrating by the moment. "I don't know, but I think I know what he's up to." She looked Derek in the eye. "He wants the best of both worlds."  
  
"Okay, I'll bite." Derek encouraged her.  
  
"The Viper _is_ after Ichriem," she emphasized, entirely certain of the fact. "I think someone hired him to find it. In his eyes, this must be a win-win situation. If he brings in Ichriem for his client, he'll be paid... and I'm guessing he doesn't offer himself out cheap. Kidnapping Nigel must have just been an added bonus for him, and," she tacked on guiltily, "a way to get back at me."  
  
"It makes sense." Derek agreed after a moment of thought. He liked the idea. His first approach had been to look towards the biggest source of money, which had been Nigel. He didn't know what an Ichriem was, but he doubted it was worth 11 million dollars. Of course, with ancient artifacts, one never knew. "Hey," he reached over and clasped her hand in his. "This isn't your fault. You didn't start this... you didn't make The Viper what he is. He's been a sorry SOB for fifty years."  
  
Sydney looked down at his hand, then up to his eyes. When he was in 'spy mode', his expression was unreadable, a poker face that would scare Clint Eastwood right out of a western. But now, when he was being himself, it was hard not to pick up his sincerity. She could help but smile at him. "A sorry SOB?" she repeated, arching her eyebrow.  
  
"Techincal term," Derek quirked a smile. He withdrew his hand from hers, noting her rather pale complexion. "You should try to get some sleep, there's still several hours until we land. I've got a feeling that snake poison hasn't worn off yet."  
  
"No," Sydney leaned back. "It hasn't." Her doctor had protested long and hard about her departure, but short of tying her up, he couldn't force her to stay. Truth be told, she was exhausted and ached all over in places she hadn't even know she had. She'd wrangled some painkillers from the argumentative doctor before leaving the hospital... now would probably be a good time to take one and try to catch a nap.  
  
Once they landed in London, she had a feeling it would be a long time until she could relax again.

End Part Fourteen


	15. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 15/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by ****LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Tuesday, September 17, 2002

The capital of the United Kingdom and one of the world's largest cities, London was never quiet. Sydney wondered if someone coined the term perpetual motion after a visit here. It was an old city, surviving the ravages of time, plagues, and in the most recent centuries, bombs and terrorism. Her eyes flitted through the teeming crowd. She alone knew what the Viper looked like. She had a feeling the killer didn't know she'd caught a glimpse of him on two occasions now. His anonymity was compromised. He could no longer hide behind his well-orchestrated misdirection.

Lloyd and his counterparts were working blind. Technically, Sydney should tell him, give him a description. And I did, she defended mentally. I just didn't tell him everything. When she learned about Nigel's abduction, her mind brought peripheral awareness squarely into the center of her consciousness, and she constructed a picture from what she saw. He must have been in his early forties, but the man was ageless in appearance. He might have been twenty or fifty. His dark hair was then cut short, in a fairly nondescript style, his face devoid of beard, his dark eyes averted in the fashion of a businessman distracted by the day-to-day grind.

Her fingers clutched a small notebook, where she'd managed to sketch a rough approximation of her target.

Target…

A few hours with Derek Lloyd and she was thinking in operative terms.

If her artistic talents were normally confined to the reproduction of valuable artifacts, now she prayed for the ability to translate that into a portrait. All of her memory and her desperation were poured into the pencil drawings. Nigel's life might depend on those drawings.

Not for the first time, she wondered how much she could trust Lloyd. If she were hunting a relic, and only hunting a relic, she wouldn't feel any compunctions about keeping information to herself. But Derek Lloyd was a government employee, a member of the intelligence community. Lloyd was notorious for focusing on his own interests and the interests of his department.

Sydney's hand reached back to apply pressure to her wound. She wasn't sure how much her body would take without giving out. Like it or not, she was still human, with human limitations. If it came to choosing between Nigel's life and capturing an international criminal, would Lloyd protect Nigel? She had her doubts. She couldn't afford to sit this one out. Sucking in her breath, pushed herself to focus on spotting the enemy.

The Viper was out there, she knew it. She hated being in London while Nigel was secreted away in Egypt, but she had to play the game or risk losing him forever. The killer was watching her, watching Lloyd, observing, planning, his intent to destroy her after a long game of cat-and-mouse.

Her mouth drew into a grim line. _It doesn't matter, you bastard. In this case, you have things backward. I am the cat and you are my prey. And when I get to you, I don't intend to leave a single whisker intact._

Someone jostled against her and she gasped in pain, momentarily doubled over by the impact.

When she straightened, a hand caught her elbow and a deep, pleasant voice asked, "Are you all right, Miss?"

She forced a smile, forced her body and mind not to react.

"I'm fine," she lied, carefully studying the enemy. Lloyd was next to her, instantly expressing his concern, but she was immersed in memorization. "Just an attack of travelers' stomach." She gauged the Viper's response. Did he realize she'd recognized him instantly? If so, he gave no outward sign whatsoever. She phrased things carefully, praying that Lloyd didn't give them away. The Viper knew full well that her problem had nothing to do with her stomach, but she wanted to keep her secret intact for as long as possible.

"Are you certain? You don't look at all well. My driver is here. Perhaps we could take you to your hotel? We're heading downtown. The Braedon Green is right on the way."

Sydney felt the color drain from her face. Lloyd froze, understanding the implications.

"All right, then, pleasantries are hereby canceled. I want Nigel." Sydney cursed her voice for wavering. She fought waves of dizziness that threatened to engulf her at any moment. "You're exposed, Viper. We know who you are, and so do my companion's friends. You're surrounded."

The Viper smiled, bringing her fingers to his lips. "We both know it doesn't work like that. You want your little friend, I get Ichriem and his sibling's millions."

Lloyd nodded, pursing his lips. "Since everybody knows everybody now, I need to level the playing field on one count. What, exactly, is _Ichriem?"_

The Viper chuckled. "Possibly the only object, outside King Tut's gold sarcophagus, worth more than twenty times the Bailey fortune. It is a solid gold statue, approximately one meter high and embedded with a collection of flawless gems to shame those in the Tower of London. There is a legend saying that a mere touch reveals your soul mate, but legend doesn't interest me. What interests me is a buyer who has offered me the tidy sum of a half billion dollars to retrieve it. I suppose that my buyer is a romantic at heart."

Sydney inclined her head. "With that kind of money, why did you even bother with Nigel? Eleven million is nothing next to half a billion." She knew the answer before she heard it.

"You know that, of course. I can think of no better way to avenge my loss to you than to take what you hold most dear."  


End Part Fifteen


	16. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 16/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Tuesday, September 24, 2002

"You son of a..." Sydney growled dangerously, taking a step forward. "I outta kill you right here." It was a busy airport after all, a dead body wouldn't attract _too_ much notice.  
  
Derek placed a restraining hand on her shoulder. "Sydney," he warned quietly. "That won't help Nigel." He narrowed his eyes to deadly blue slits and straightened himself to his full height, even though The Viper had a good two inches on him. Still... he'd stared down bigger men. "What did you do with him Viper?" he demanded.  
  
A sickly smile etched across the villain's face and he gestured absently with his hand. "Let's just say he's a little tied up at the moment." He seemed amused with his comment. "As cliché as it sounds, I've always wanted to say that. It's fairly clever don't you think?"  
  
"I'm happy for you." Sydney ground out, crossing her arms over her chest. If sarcasm were deadly, The Viper wouldn't have to worry about spouting worn clichés anymore. "Now what the hell are you doing here? Just like hanging around airports?"  
  
The Viper arched an eyebrow, lending even more to his persona of deadly self-satisfaction. "You should know better than that my dear. If you want to know what I've been doing here, I suggest you talk to Preston Bailey." He pushed back his sleeve and smugly studied his watch. "He should be reading something _very_ interesting  
right about now."  
  
Sydney stiffened slightly. The ransom note.  
  
"You think you're going to get away with this?" Derek threatened. He kept a steadying arm on Sydney, both for moral and physical support. He knew that like himself, she was trying not to show any weakness in front of her adversary, but it was hard when by all rights she should still be in a hospital. "There's enough undercover operatives in this airport to take over a small country, and one word from me brings them all running."  
  
The Viper flicked a glance at Derek Lloyd, looking him up and down with exaggeration. If he was intimidated by the agent, he gave no indication.  
  
Completing his inspection of the competition, he looked back to Sydney. "I see you've gotten a little government help on your side... I'm impressed, but I suspected it would happen." His eyes drifted back to the man at her side. "I'd call off your dogs Mr. Lloyd." He noticed the agent didn't so much as blink at the mention of his name. It was a trait The Viper could respect. "As I told Ms. Fox, it doesn't work that way, and you know it. This is my game, and you're going to follow _my_ rules."  
  
"And what rules are those?" Sydney sneered. "To just let you do whatever the hell you want?"  
  
The Viper smiled, flashing a row of teeth in a gesture that made him appear appropriately nefarious. "Exactly," he hissed. "I always knew you were a bright girl. That's why I'm going to walk out of here... because if I don't, your assistant will be dead in an hour and my associates will mail his pretty little head to you in a box." 

It was a lie, but Fox and her government bodyguard were none the wiser. He saw them both pale at the idea and knew he'd won.  
  
In truth he had no intention of killing Bailey if he could avoid it. In the past he might have done it without hesitation, but perhaps his advancing years had mellowed him slightly... that and the prospect of his pay off.  
  
Half a _billion_ dollars.  
  
That was $500,000,000. A nine digit figure. Plus the potential bonus of an extra 11 million for the boy's ransom. It was more than he'd ever hoped to make, and once he got his hands on that kind of money there would be no more Viper. He'd fade away into peaceful obscurity, maybe move to a nice tropical island and spend the rest of his days sipping margaritas and watching sunsets.  
  
Hell, if he could get his hands on Ichriem, he _might_ even let the Bailey kid go free of charge. His goal had been to make Fox suffer, and she was clearly doing so in spades. Revenge had been achieved... now it was just a matter of how far he let it go.  
  
"So what do you say Ms. Fox, Mr. Lloyd? Do I leave here, or are you going to play hero and try catching me... maybe try to find the boy yourself in the next hour?" He looked at Derek, staring him straight in the eye. "I can see the wheels turning for you. You'd like to handcuff me right now and drag me back to the states wouldn't you? That's your job isn't it Mr. Lloyd?" He didn't wait for an answer. "You and I are a lot alike, we both hate being kept from our goals."  
  
"We're nothing alike." Derek practically spat. "Goals or not." But the older man had been right about one thing, the urge to just wrestle him to the ground and slap a pair of cuffs on his wrists was practically overwhelming. This was The Viper after all, a man sought for over twenty-five years in a dozen countries, and he was standing less than four feet away. Derek's job was to bring the guy in, but he couldn't be stupid about it.  
  
He hated was he was about to say.  
  
"If you're going to leave, you better get the hell out of here before I change my mind." Derek lowered his voice to a lethal decibel. "And if you hurt that kid, I will _personally_ hunt you down and rip your guts out... you'll live long enough to watch yourself die. That's a promise."  
  
Sydney glanced up at Lloyd in disbelief. There was enough menace in his voice to scare a tiger out of its stripes. He was serious.

The Viper thought so too. He knew idle threats when he heard one, and that was definitely no idle threat. He might have underestimated the agent. For the first time in several years, the mercenary actually felt a brief flash of something that might have been unease. Not that he'd let it show.  
  
"I knew you'd be smart. As for the boy's safety, that's up to the two of you, and his brother of course." He smirked and turned to leave, then stopped and turned back around. "Oh, and one more thing Ms. Fox, I suggest you call your secretary and have a little chat with her. Last time I spoke with her, she claimed to have Ichriem... not that I really believe her, but on the off chance it's true, I think you know what to do with it."  
  
Sydney narrowed her eyes. "I'll look into it."  
  
"Good." He turned again and walked away. "Oh yes," he tossed back over his shoulder, not bothering to turn around. "I nearly forgot. Enjoy your stay in London, it's charming this time of year."

End Part Sixteen


	17. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 17/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by snaggletaz@yahoo.com **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Friday, April 25, 2003

Preston Bailey sat at the piano completely numb, it was true some murderous lunatic had Nigel. The package had arrived by messenger thirty minutes earlier. When he had first read the note he thought it was someone's idea of a sick joke, but then he remembered Nigel's last visit with Sydney Fox and a cold fear crept over him. The demand was simple and to the point Eleven Million American dollars or Nigel would be shipped home in boxes. Further instructions would be forthcoming and if the authorities were brought in, Nigel would be killed immediately. Along with the note was a video that clearly showed Nigel was still alive at the time it was taped,  
apparently drugged and a simply wrapped box that contained their father's watch, the one Nigel now owned and always wore.  
  
He stared at the pictures on top of the piano. He first looked at the one of their parents after they had first been married. They loved each other so much and he couldn't remember ever hearing them bicker over anything. Their lives had taken in a instant due to the careless, thoughtless act of a drunk driver. One person had forever changed his life that day and another was threatening to do the same now. Nigel was the only family he had left and even though there were times he had wished he had never been born he had always loved him.  
  
Preston's thoughts drifted back to his childhood as he now looked at Nigel's face staring back at him from the old black and white picture their mother had taken. He had been the only child for years and then Nigel entered the picture and disrupted his world. His parents did everything they could to convince him that just because there was a new baby in the house it didn't mean that they loved him less, but nothing they said had been able to squelch the jealousy he had felt. As they grew older Nigel at first had adored him and hung on his every word, but quickly grew tired of Preston always showing him up and a distance quickly grew between them. In response to Preston's ambivalence to him Nigel had relied on his father more as a friend and playmate and a bond was born between them that only made the jealousy worse. His father would spend hours playing and telling Nigel stories about knights, dragons, magic scepters and the like, something Preston had always found boring, but Nigel never did and he would always asked for more much to their father's delight.  
  
When Nigel had left for the States to complete is education Preston couldn't have been happier. They only spoke to each other when absolutely necessary, but that had all changed when he had stumbled upon the poem written by King Henry the Eighth to his daughter Elizabeth about her mother's ring. Nigel and Sydney Fox had flown to England and Preston out of spite had flaunted his new relationship with Nigel's ex. As it turned out in the end she became one of the reasons why he had decided let go of the past and try to repair the damage that had already been done to their relationship. Amanda had been after the ring with her partner and had only gotten involved with him as a means to an end, if Nigel hadn't stopped her Preston knew he could well be dead now. He had made a peace offering to Nigel before he left and was relieved when his brother had accepted, they were working on repairing the damage from the past and now spoke or wrote to each other as often as their busy lives permitted. After all the years of anger, jealousy and spite the thought of losing him just as they were becoming true brothers and friends was almost more than he could stand.  
  
He jumped when he heard the rapping on the door, what if the kidnapper was here to get the money, he didn't have it yet, he had called his lawyer and without telling him the reason had him begin the necessary steps in order to get it, but gathering that kind of money takes time. Getting up from the bench he cautiously headed towards the door and when he opened it, he felt hope for the first time since this ordeal had started as he looked at Sydney.

End Part Seventeen


	18. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 18/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Saturday, April 26, 2003

Preston's eyes took in the pallid, exhausted figure, so different from the vivacious beauty he recalled. Guilt sliced through him as it occurred that perhaps his brother's absence was even more heart-rending to this woman. Funny... Even while making the first tentative steps toward his brother, Preston never once asked Nigel about his relationship with Sydney Fox. Were they mere colleagues and friends, or were they in fact involved on a more personal level? 

Her dark brown breeches and vest fit close to her skin, showing off a slim but very feminine figure. The snowy poet's shirt spilled out from the vest in billowing white sleeves and a rounded neckline that paralleled the curve of her breasts. No matter her condition, Sydney Fox was a stunningly beautiful woman. Surely Nigel knew that, too. 

Without a word, he drew her inside, nodding approval to the dark-haired man behind her. Even in his sheltered life, Preston Bailey knew the look of a law-enforcement officer. By the cut of his suit, this one was American. Sydney's reaction to her companion – or rather, her lack thereof – was in itself telling. She knew this man, trusted him insofar as his job involved, and not one whit further. 

"Come in. I only just got the ransom demands." The words hung in the air, echoing through his consciousness. The syllables sounded so harsh, so detached. He supposed Sydney would think he didn't care about his younger brother at all, when nothing could be further from the truth. 

But the darkly exotic woman laid a hand on his forearm, and her brown eyes poured genuine sympathy over him. Only then did he expel the breath he'd been holding. 

"I'm Preston Bailey, Nigel's brother," he explained to the government man. "You're with Sydney, so I assume you know what's going on." He glanced at Sydney, then averted his eyes. He couldn't bear facing Nigel's colleague and friend, not just now. His own grief was difficult enough. Hers would tip him over a precipice from which he couldn't return. 

"Derek Lloyd," the government man replied in clipped tones, offering no further clarification. "Yeah, I know plenty. And I wish I knew more." Lloyd nodded toward Sydney, who literally looked like she might faint at any minute. "I think Syd needs to lie down. She's not supposed to be up and about. She's supposed to be in the hospital." 

For that revelation, Sydney shot Lloyd a look that threatened bodily harm. "I'm fine," she snapped. 

Her protests notwithstanding, her face was gray and she shivered in the unheated entry. "Come on, I'll warm a pot of tea. I presume you and your friend, Mr. Lloyd, will want to see what I've got." Preston took Sydney's elbow and steered her to an oversized paisley chaise lounge in the family area. Ignoring her rather feeble arguments, he tucked a pillow behind her and drew a soft, creamy Irish wool shawl over her. Her body reclined automatically, an indication that she truly was not well. "I don't want Nigel coming back to find you ill," Preston remarked, oblivious to the contradiction. He was still operating in a daze, himself, hardly aware of his actions or words. 

Lloyd ignored the exchange. The agent moved to the packages, glancing at the frozen television screen, picking up the letter and skimming through it. Preston handed over the remote to the telly, letting Lloyd press the button to release the videotape from its paused state. Watching it a thousand times would change nothing. There was no doubt that the half-cognizant creature on the tape was Nigel; nor that Nigel was drugged; nor that he was a half a world away. 

Making tea was such a trivial thing, yet Preston focused on the task, as it kept him occupied. _Walk to the kitchen, set the china and silver out in perfect order, spread out on the sterling tray._ It took him mere moments to accomplish the job and distribute the steaming cups, sugar, and cream. Then he was left with nothing to do but sit back in the oversized chair he'd claimed so many years ago. "This Viper, he can have the money. I just wanted you to know that. I will give up whatever it takes. If he likes, he can trade me for Nigel. I suppose that would be its own justice, all things considered." 

"That's not what we're going to do." Lloyd's voice was firm. "The money won't make a difference. He wants this Ichriem, and that's our only leverage." 

Preston's jaw dropped. _"Ichriem?"_ he squeaked, hardly able to believe his ears. "He wants _Ichriem???_ That's not possible. There's no such an artifact. It's pure balderdash wrapped up in legend. There's no more a real Ichriem than there is a marriage license for Queen Elizabeth and Paul McCartney. It's absolutely bogus, all nonsense!" 

"Yeah, I know," sighed Sydney. "But the Viper doesn't believe that. He believes we have the thing and that we're going to hand it over. If we don't come up with Ichriem, he'll kill Nigel." 

"But there _is_ no Ichriem!" wailed Preston. 

"Actually, I think there is." 

The new voice came from behind them all. It sounded a little like Betty Boop on helium, and it came from a darling, tiny wisp of a blond girl. 

Preston knew he should focus on his brother. Nigel was missing. His brother's life was almost certainly hanging in the balance. It was just so hard to focus on Nigel when facing the lovely young woman who walked through his door. 

"Hello," he greeted, striding toward the vision of femininity. "I'm Preston Bailey. And you…" 

The little blond gave him a lopsided smile that melted his heart. "My name is Claudia. I'm here to see Sydney. It's about that fable? It's not really a fable. See, I got this package in the mail. Well, _I_ didn't get the package, Sydney did, but that's not important. What's important is that it's about Ichriem, and the guy that called said he wanted Ichriem, and so I knew it was important. I had to bring it to Sydney, and I figured Sydney was here. You're Nigel's brother? Funny, you don't look at all like him. You're really an interesting man, not at all like Nigel. I don't mean that there's anything wrong with Nigel, but you aren't anything like him…" She handed a large, awkward package to Sydney, without a missing a single beat in her discourse. 

As Claudia continued her bubbly monologue, Preston decided it was the real thing this time. He was madly in love. And in his heart of hearts, he knew that this bubbly, angelic blond creature was going to help him rescue his baby brother.

End Part Eighteen


	19. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 19/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, April 27, 2003

Syndey tossed aside the rich wool shawl, sitting up with mingling shock as Claudia burst in the room like a chattering cyclone. As the package was thrust into her hands, her mind began to reel as it tried following the secretary's non-stop commentary. Finally she had enough. "Claudia!"  
  
"Hmm?" The blond broke off mid-ramble, and for the first time, got a good look at her employer. She rushed towards the chaise. "Oh Sydney! Are you okay? You look pale..." She turned to Preston with light speed. "She's not supposed to be out of the hospital you know, she was stabbed." And just as fast, turned to regard Sydney again. "Can I get something for you?"  
  
Sydney held up her hand in the universal 'no' pose. "I'm fine." She studied the mysterious box, turning it over and looking for any identifying marks. Overall, it was fairly nondescript... plain cardboard, about two feet foot tall and one foot wide. The address was scratched on the top flap in permanent ink. Derek curiously moved over and sat beside her on the couch. "Where did this come from?"  
  
"It came to the office the other day..." the blond fidgeted slightly, wringing her hands, "...the day you were stabbed actually. I started thinking it might be important after I made your travel plans, and then I was about to open it and Nigel called..."  
  
"He called?!?!" The other three occupants of the room blurted in near synch.  
  
"You talked to him?" Derek demanded before Preston or Sydney could. "When was this?"  
  
"Yesterday." Claudia answered. "About thirteen hours ago." She frowned. "There was some guy in the background telling him what to say, but Nigel didn't listen to him and told me you should stay away. Then the other guy got on the phone and said he'd kill Nigel if we didn't give him Ichriem. I thought maybe that was what was in the box, so I told him I'd give it to him if he let me drive over and pick Nigel up, but he said I couldn't because..." she tried to recall the exact wording. "...I'd only be able to get there by caravan."  
  
"Cairo," Sydney muttered darkly, exchanging a knowing look with Derek. The agent nodded in response. At least they were on the right track.  
  
Preston frowned in confusion, being left out of the loop. "You think he's holding Nigel in Cairo?"  
  
"Yes." Sydney looked up, suddenly realizing there was a lot Preston didn't know about recent events. All he knew was what he'd learned in the last half-hour: Nigel had been stolen away and it would take eleven million dollars to get him back. "We were actually on our way there."  
  
Gears in Preston's previously shell-shocked brain began to turn once again. They were already on their way there? He'd only learned anything was wrong just over thirty minutes ago and Claudia'd spoken with Nigel and his kidnapper _thirteen_ hours ago?  
  
Along with everything else he'd learned about the situation, this information incited Preston to a surge of fury. "How long have you known about this?" he stared squarely at his brother's colleague. "He's been missing for what? Hours? Days? How bloody long Sydney?!?" The anger intensified. "Was anyone ever going to tell me?" He snatched up the ransom note and waved it in the air. "Would I even have known if not for this??"  
  
Sydney bowed her head, momentarily forgetting about opening the box. In honesty she had thought of Preston... not very much given the rapid clip of events, but she had thought of him, even before Derek brought up the matter of inheritance. Not telling him had been a judgment call, the same as with Claudia. She'd seen no reason to worry him until she learned something more definite. But maybe... Maybe Preston needed to worry, needed to feel that link after so many years of detachment. "Of course you would have known!" Sydney tried to defend herself, "I've been in the hospital for two days Preston, I just haven't had a chance to tell you."  
  
Preston regarded her with a blank expression, then muttered a curse and tossed the note aside in frustration. He could see Sydney was sincere. "I'm sorry," he apologized. "I just should have known sooner." He seemed to deflate as his anger tapered away. "He's the only family I have... I should have known." He ran his fingers through his hair and plopped dejectedly into the nearest wing chair.  
  
Claudia drifted to his side like an angel of mercy and patted him on the shoulder. "Don't worry," she comforted. "Syd and Derek have worked together before, and they've never failed." She looked to her boss, her eyes pleading for confirmation. "Right Syd?"  
  
The relic hunter nodded. "Derek knows his job Preston." It was true, the agent followed his own agenda, but he was better than Dudley DooRight at bringing in his man. "I haven't seen him fail yet."  
  
Derek arched an eyebrow, secretly pleased with the comment, but keeping his agent persona intact. "We'll do our best," he agreed. "And I think we should start with whatever's in this box." He leaned over and tapped the package, having been preoccupied with it since Claudia dropped in their laps. Could getting Ichriem really be that easy?  
  
Sydney took the hint. "Right." She turned her attention back to the box. Claudia had obviously opened it, the sealing tape was neatly sliced with either a pair of scissors or a letter opener. She lifted the top flaps, and with a curious frown, reached into the box and withdrew the bulky contents.  
  
It wasn't Ichriem. Not the real one anyway.  
  
Sydney somehow wasn't surprised. If The Viper's description were accurate, there was no way the real Ichriem would fit in a box that size, and there was no way Claudia would be able to carry it. The Viper claimed the statue was a meter tall and made of solid gold. If that were the case, it would weigh several hundred pounds... gold was an extremely heavy metal.  
  
"Is that it?" Claudia asked hopefully. Preston stood, slipping away from Claudia's comforting arm and wandering towards the chaise for a better look.  
  
Sydney turned the statue over. "Sort of... It's a replica." It was a rough wooden statue, about 18 inches tall and adorned with polished rocks in place of the precious gemstones. It depicted two figures standing back to back, one was feminine with the head of a lion, but the other was a plain human arrayed with a decorative feather. "It's Tefnut and Shu."*  
  
"Tefnut?" Derek questioned.  
  
Preston furrowed his brow. "Tefnut was the Egyptian goddess of moisture and clouds… among other things. She was married to Shu, the god of dry wind, air, light, that type of thing. Besides being married, they were also twins, both children of either Tem or Amun-Ra depending on which text you read."  
  
Sydney nodded absently still engrossed with the statue. "Right, and because they controlled opposite parts of the atmosphere, it was said they both worked together to hold the sky up."  
  
"They're also major players in tarot and astrology," Claudia spoke up. "Did you know they're the Gemini twins?" She noticed she had everyone's attention and continued. "Yeah, their card is called `The Lovers', and it's a very good card, even if it doesn't really have anything to do with lovers. It usually means a choice made from the heart, not the mind. It has to do with partnerships and innocence and youth without earthly desire."**  
  
Sydney arched an eyebrow, even Derek managed to look impressed. For his part, Preston inched a little closer to the petite blond. "That's fascinating," he praised, once again feeling drawn to her. How could Nigel work with this lithe pixie and ever get anything accomplished?  
  
"So what does this mean?" Derek gestured to the idol. "Who sent you a replica of the statue?"  
  
"I don't know," Sydney mused, passing the idol to Derek while she reached for the box. "Maybe there's a clue in here."  
  
Lloyd accepted the statue and scrutinized it, as though the carved figures would suddenly spring to life for a hearty interrogation. Forced to accept it was nothing more than an elaborate piece of wood, he watched Syd rifle though the box. "Find anything?"  
  
"A lot of packing chips," Sydney grew tired of probing and upended the box, dumping styrofoam peanuts all over Preston's Turkish rug. A slip of paper drifted among the colorful popcorn. Sydney snatched it from the pile and read it aloud.  
  
"Dear Sydney,  
Ichriem has been found. I made this replica for you myself... I intended to give it to you when I announced the discovery, but something is going on. My dig assistant disappeared last week when he went into Cairo for supplies. His jeep was found overturned about a two miles out of the city, but the police haven't found a trace of him yet. And yesterday when I was coming from the police station, I know someone was following me. Before my assistant's accident, we were about to enter the chamber where I believe the statue is housed. But until I know what's going on, I've stopped the excavation. If you receive this and don't hear from me, then I fear the worst has happened. Please come to Cairo and look for a restaurant called `El Kadid's'. It's owned by a very good friend of mine, and he'll be able to help you. God's Speed, Bernard Reynold"  
  
Sydney finished reading and looked around the room. "Bernard Reynold...BMR! Of course!" She couldn't believe she'd missed the connection. It all made perfect sense, Bernard always had a fascination with the legend of Ichriem. "I just didn't think of it because nearly everyone calls him Artie."

"Bernard Reynold..." Preston mused, looking thoughtful. The name rang a definite bell. "He donated an artifact to the museum last year... a dagger I believe." He didn't catch the look that passed between Derek and Sydney. "He said he thought he'd have another one for us if his dig went well."  
  
"A dagger?" Sydney repeated incredulously. "Short, with a decorative handle and a thin blade?"  
  
Preston arched an eyebrow. "Yes, that sounds like it."  
  
"Is it still in the museum?" Derek demanded.  
  
"To my knowledge." The elder Bailey looked at the couple seated on the chaise and had the feeling he was missing something. Why were they so interested in a dagger of all things? Then it suddenly hit him: Sydney had been stabbed. "Good Lord!" Notes of appalled shock ran through his voice. "Was that the sort of knife you were stabbed with?"  
  
"Unfortunately." Syndey winced, not needing to be reminded of the fact. She idly wondered if it was time for another painkiller. It seemed like days since the one she'd taken on the plane.  
  
"Yeah, but now we know where it came from." Derek pointed out. "If this Reynold actually found a second one, The Viper must have taken it from him."  
  
"You think he killed Reynold?" Preston ventured, reading between the lines of Lloyd's statement. His worry for his little brother was growing by leaps and bounds. The thought of Nigel in the hands of a cold-blooded killer... his eyes drifted back to the old photograph on the piano and he found himself blinking back unshed tears. He liked to think he had reign over his emotions, he was an adult male and chalk full of British sensibilities. It was his heritage to keep a stiff upper lip... but dammit all, he was on the verge of failing miserably.  
  
"It's possible." Sydney confirmed. She happened to glance up and see Preston was no longer looking at her, focusing instead on a collection of family photos. She felt a wave of sympathy and pushed herself off the chaise lounge, making her way to his side. She placed her hand on his back and followed his line of sight to picture of a very young Nigel and Preston. "We'll get him back," she vowed quietly. "I promise you."

End Part Nineteen

*Tefnut and Shu are real Egyptian gods.  
**They really are the Gemini twins and are depicted on a tarot card.


	20. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 20/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by snaggletaz@yahoo.com **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Thursday, May 1, 2003

Derek, Preston and Claudia had all told her she was being foolish, wanting to catch the first available flight to Cairo. Sydney knew they were right, she would be of no help to Nigel if she fell flat on her face from exhaustion, but with each moment that passed Sydney felt Nigel slipping further away.  
  
Sydney sat alone with her thoughts, absently running her fingers along the band of Nigel's watch. Just holding it made her feel closer to Nigel. Sydney knew she should be sleeping, but her mind kept replaying The Viper's words from the conference as he told her his intentions for Nigel.  
  
As she clutched Nigel's watch to her chest Sydney finally gave into silent tears as she whispered . "I will find you. I swear on my life, I will bring you home."  
  
Nigel felt Sydney's hand touching his face. God she was beautiful. As his eyes began to focus, it was not Syd's face he saw staring back at him as he had hoped.  
  
"Hello Nigel, miss me?" The older man said with a devilish grin on his face.  
  
Nigel tried to pull away, but found his arms and legs were still bound.  
  
"Don't take this the wrong way Nigel, but you might want to think about changing your deodorant." The Viper said, thoroughly enjoying himself as he watched the fear dance in Nigel's eyes.  
  
Nigel watched as The Viper pulled out an Egyptian Dagger. A strange calmness fell over him. As Nigel stared at the blade, knowing his death was imminent, he was still intrigued by the beauty of it. It was a match for the one Sydney had been stabbed with.

The Viper moved closer to Nigel as he ran the exquisite dagger lightly across Nigel's neck.  
  
"Beautiful isn't it. What a shame I had to leave its twin behind in New York."  
  
There was a sudden blur of motion. This is it, Nigel thought as he prepared himself to die. But instead of slicing the knife through his throat, the man cut Nigel's wrists free, and was now cutting the ropes that bound his legs.  
  
"Get up" The Viper hissed.  
  
Nigel did his best to comply, but hours of being tied down had made his arms and legs stiff.  
  
Loosing patience with Nigel's slowness, The Viper grabbed his arm, and dragged him into the bathroom.  
  
"Clean yourself up." The Viper's voice was even more menacing, as he tossed both Nigel, and an old bar of soap into the shower. Before turning on the water he added "Were going to be spending a lot time together you and I before this is over, and I prefer not to have to smell you during it."  
  
As the older man headed out the door. "You'll find your clothes waiting for you when your done. And if escape is on your mind, I wouldn't advise it. If the desert doesn't kill you, I will, and trust me, you'll be begging for mercy before I'm done with you."  
  
As Nigel stared at The Viper he was amazed at the sudden transformation on the mans face, he had gone from a menacing glare, to a relaxed smile in an instant.  
  
"Oh, come Nigel, give me a smile, this will be fun I guarantee it."

End Part Twenty


	21. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 21/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, May 4, 2003

_Fun_ wasn't what Nigel would have chosen to describe the trip. Hellish, brutal, inhuman - but in no way could it be construed as _fun_. His body felt like it was aflame from both inside and out. The Viper warned against escape, and Nigel obeyed, though not from any imminent threat of death or injury. The teaching assistant simply was too ill to attempt more than the most rudimentary functions. He didn't speak, didn't react when spoken to, didn't argue with any directives. 

The merciless sun of the Sahara beat down from the bleached sky. The Viper knew this desert, knew the means of traversing it, and knew what it could do to a human being. They moved in tandem with the greater caravan, some hundred fifty nomads who were accustomed to this mode of travel. 

Nigel's slender frame was never designed to ride a camel, nor to endure the weather extremes of Northern Africa. In brief flashes of cognizance, he saw concern flit over his captor's face. Heat stroke was a deadly possibility, the more so to a man unaccustomed to the oppressive temperatures. _Serves him right if I die,_ the Englishman thought, overtaken by such profound misery that he honestly lost all interest in living. Apparently timing made all the difference. Despite his threats, the Viper plied Nigel with water and food, even going so far as to assign one of the children to keep tabs on him. Nigel wondered absently if his enemy realized that he spoke the child's language. 

Not that he was capable of speech right now. And even if he were, he was an Englishman in an Arab world. Egypt as a country was more or less friendly with the UK and the US. Individual Arabs were another matter. There was, sadly, all too much friction between the cultures, and matters spiraled even further since the horrors of the World Trade Center. Emotions were raw on both sides of the proverbial wall. The English-speaking world was understandably horrified at the unprovoked attack, while peaceful Arabs, Muslim or not, were forced into a defensive posture against presumptions of guilt. The entire world was in turmoil. 

In comparison, Nigel supposed his own imminent demise didn't amount to much. He wondered if anyone would miss him. His brother, already separated by thousands of kilometers and years of emotional distance, would likely mourn briefly before resuming his life. Claudia would be saddened for a while, so long as it didn't interfere with the new fashions from Paris. Sydney… She was a friend, if no more. Yes, Sydney would miss him. He hoped she would remember him with fondness. 

He let his eyes close and his body slumped forward. He didn't hear the Viper's string of curses, nor did he feel himself being lifted and carried to the relative coolness of a hastily-erected tent. 

The next thing he remembered was waking inside something vaguely familiar, his body thrumming in time to a mechanical rhythm. 

"Open your eyes." The command was direct, terse, and tinged with worry. 

"Dammit, Bailey, open your eyes! I won't have my eleven million dollar prize die on me in the middle of the desert. I spent a small fortune hiring this flying taxi. I don't mind the money, I'll make that back. But I don't like the security risk. Any flight poses a risk, especially a chartered flight from the middle of nowhere. We'll take this as far as Sid Ifni, but no further. I won't risk giving any more away. Sydney has the note from Reynold's assistant. Ms. Fox is a smart girl. She'll figure it out sooner or later." 

Nigel's mind whirled. "The note…" he whispered. "10:30… It's off the coast of Morocco, in the middle of the bloody ocean! I still don't understand what MT means, but the numbers are latitude and longitude, aren't they? If you're looking for Ichriem there, why the hell were we in Cairo? And I don't think Sydney would give eleven million dollars for me, even if she had it. Oh, you really are in a muddle. You're crazy." 

The older man leaned over and hissed into Nigel's ear, "You don't even know, do you? Your inheritance, my boy. On your brother's birthday he received just under seven and a half million pounds, which comes out to eleven million American dollars on current markets. And MT is _Mer de Tueur_ It's the name of the tiny island that is our destination. It's not on any map, mind you. The diversion to Cairo was a necessary evil, I'm afraid. My buyer is there at the moment and wanted assurances that all is moving as planned. He has a little surprise planned for Sydney and her government friend when they arrive." 

Nigel's mouth wrapped around the French phrase, his linguistic abilities providing instantaneous translation. _de Tueur… killer sea._

End Part Twenty-One


	22. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 22/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Thursday, May 8, 2003

When he was a boy, Nigel could remember hearing people say they had "too much information"... a phrase he'd never understood. Afterall, how could one ever have_ too much_ information?

Information was a good thing wasn't it? It was a certainly a valuable thing, something people studied their whole lives to gain, spending every penny to enhance. From an early age his father had taught him the value of knowledge, of information... how important it was to have and never take for granted. `Feed your mind Nigel,' his father once told him, `there's no limit how far you can go."

No, Nigel had never believed there was such a thing as "too much information." It was a myth, a fallacy, a legend along the lines of Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. No one could ever know too much, the very idea went against the human spirit, it was absurd.

But now, for the first time in his life, Nigel had the creeping sensation he'd just been exposed to just such a phenomenon: He'd been given too much information. It was like opening the closet and having the Easter Bunny hand him his jacket. 

Mer de Tueur? Syd and a government agent? His brother's inheritance? A buyer in Cairo setting up a trap? His flirting brush with heat stroke suddenly seemed like the least of his problems. 

The inheritance... Good Lord, he'd totally forgotten about it. He'd naturally sent Preston a card for his birthday, but the dual significance of the date had slipped his mind. The spring had been hectic, filled with busy days and months, he'd scarcely had time to buy a card and write a short letter, much less contemplate the maturing of his brother's trust fund. Seven and a half million pounds... Eleven million American dollars. 

And Preston was being asked to give it all up. 

Nigel wondered how his brother had taken the news, then instantly decided it wouldn't have been well. And the money would have little to do with it. If the situation were reversed, Nigel knew he'd gladly give up the millions in exchange for Preston. They were each the only family the other had, and had finally begun to form a tangible bond that proved it. *I'm sorry Preston.*

The Viper was regarding him with a cautious eye, probably trying to ascertain whether or not he'd lose consciousness again. There were times when the man... the _villain_ in front of him seemed to have flashes of concern, perhaps even worry for his well-being, and Nigel couldn't help but wonder what drove the man to do the things he apparently did all his life. Was it money? Or was it something else? 

From what Nigel could see, Sydney had been right in her description of The Viper; he was a fairly ordinary-looking fellow... he had no missing limbs, no bizarre disfigurements, not even a visible scar. He was fairly muscular despite his age, which Nigel estimated in the early fifties, and spoke with a faint continental accent that the grad student couldn't even begin to pin down.

Seeing Nigel was keeping a tenuous grasp on the real world, The Viper pulled him to a sitting position then leaned over and opened a cooler, withdrawing a bottle and twisting off the seal. "Here," he pushed the container into Nigel's hands. "Drink this... and do it slowly or you'll make yourself sick."

Nigel blinked and fought off a wave of dizziness at his new vertical position, then studied the cold bottle with pointed scrutiny. For all intents and purposes it looked like some kind of sports drink, a distant version of Gatorade. Its brief absence from the cooler had already spawned a glittering outbreak of condensation, dripping from the bottle in tantalizing rivulets and running over his fingers. It might as well have started singing a Siren's song. 

Casting caution to the wind and ignoring the nagging little voice in the back of his mind which reminded him it might be drugged, Nigel took a grateful sip of the cool liquid. As he savored the respite on his parched throat he spared a glance at his captor, half expecting him to chortle in the villainously-maniacal fashion of a mad scientist who'd tricked someone into drinking their elixir. Instead he was met with a satisfied nod and an expression that seemed to approve of his careful sipping as if to say `Good, he didn't throw up.'

"Drink it all," the older man ordered, tapping the lid of the cooler. "There's more. I don't need you getting dehydrated. Are you hungry?"

Nigel shook his head, taking another drink from the bottle. The thought of food was somehow wildly unappealing, probably due to the lingering dryness of his throat. "Perhaps later."

The Viper grunted, apparently satisfied with the answer. He sat in silence for a moment. "You know, you seem like a smart boy," he mused. "What made you ever hook up with the likes of Sydney Fox?"

Nigel steadied his drink and pushed himself up a bit more, suddenly feeling very pithy. "I don't know, what made you become The Viper?" he countered. Uh-oh. Did he really just say that? *The sun must have addled my brain worse than I thought.* 

But instead of being angry, the older man actually laughed. "Touché." He reached in the cooler again, pulling out a bottle of water and screwing off the top. He took a generous gulp and grinned. "That's why I like you."

"Charming." Nigel muttered. Truthfully though, it was probably the best thing he'd heard in days, much better than hearing `I don't like you.' If he could keep on The Viper's good side it might very well help his chances of getting out of the whole mess alive.

"Ah... and there's some more of that famous dry British wit." The mercenary leaned back. The two of them were sitting on the floor of the airplane, their backs braced against a long maroon couch which had been substituted for all the seats on the left- hand side. "Although you pull it off better than most." He took another swig of water, wiped his hand across his mouth and smoothly changed the subject. "What do you know about Mer de Tueur?"

Nigel glanced at his captor, wondering if the question was a test of his knowledge or just The Viper's way of making small talk. "It's an island off the coast of western Morocco, probably no more than a mile wide. The name literally means `killer sea' because the waters around the island are filled with jagged rocks and sand bars, they make sailing there a hazard." He furrowed his brow, trying to remember anything else useful. "I don't believe anyone lives there permanently. The French tried to establish a sort of phosphate mining outpost there in the 18th century, but they abandoned it after they kept losing their ships on the rocks."

"Very good." The Viper praised, raising his water bottle in salute. "But let's go a little farther back, say two or three thousand years."

"Oh, um, well..." Nigel sipped his drink again. If The Viper was testing him, he was about to get an ear full. "Morocco was inhabited by the Berbers until it was invaded in the 12th century BC by the Phoenicians, who basically took over the coast, along with most of the Mediterranean coast, and built up a trading empire. But by the 6th century BC, the Phoenicians had fallen to the Carthaginians, and they kept their hold on the coastline until they became involved in the Punic Wars and fell to Rome. The land then became part of the Roman Empire. When Rome fell, it was essentially open season on the territory, it was invaded by nearly every power who could sail a ship."

The Viper smirked rather slyly. "Yes, but what of the Egyptians? Ichriem was their little toy after all."

"The Egyptians?" Nigel frowned. "No, they never conquered that area. The closet thing I can think of would be the Phoenicians... They were part of the Egyptian Empire, but they revolted and finally broke away around 1200BC, which was roughly when they moved on to conquer Morocco and take over the coast." 

The mercenary set down his water bottle and clapped his hands together three times in congratulations. "I see Oxford still lives up to its reputation. So now what does all this information tell you?"

Nigel took a deep breath; the information told him plenty, it spoke veritable volumes. "It tells me that the Phoenicians most likely stole Ichriem when they broke away from the Egyptian Empire. They brought it with them to Morocco and hid it away on Mer de Tueur, probably hoping the dangerous waters around the island would keep the Egyptians from ever reclaiming it." 

The Viper chuckled in satisfaction. "As you British like to say, `Bravo'. I knew you were a smart boy... much smarter than your alleged mentor." He glanced at his watch. "We're at least a day ahead of her now."

At the reminder Sydney might soon be waltzing into a trap, Nigel steadied himself for what he was about to say. "You said you were setting a trap for Syd in Cairo... Why? I know you don't like her because of that bit with the prayer book, but if we're so far ahead, what difference does it make?"

The Viper clicked his tongue. "You're smart, but you're also very naïve aren't you?" He regarded Nigel with a tolerant expression, as though talking to a child. "I used to be like that before I learned how the world really works." A hard note that echoed cruel experience crept into his voice. "It's cold out there my boy, and it's kill or be killed. Fox may be your friend, but she's my rival. She proved she was a danger the day she cost me the prayer book, and Ichriem is too big a prize to risk losing."

Nigel stared at the man, knowing he couldn't say anything at the moment to change his mind. The Viper must have had a sense of decency inside, he'd given himself away by renting the airplane and saving his captive from the forced march across the desert. But wherever the sense of decency was kept, Nigel didn't know, and didn't know which key might unlock it for his advantage.

So instead of speaking, he merely looked away and took another sip from his warming sports drink, idly wondering if the Phoenicians ever dreamed just how long they'd keep Ichriem hidden.

End Part Twenty-Two


	23. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 23/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Friday, May 9, 2003

Sydney's hand pressed against the ache in her back. Prescription painkillers would help, but they muddled her mind, and Lloyd knew she was loath to take anything. He seriously considered grinding one of the pills and slipping it into juice. Her face was gray and beaded with sweat. The cool of their air-conditioned hotel room didn't cause the perspiration. She was in a world of hurt.

He sighed, dragging a hand over his eyes. He kept up his façade, whistling a jaunty tune and cracking a nonstop series of truly tasteless jokes. Nothing too serious, anything at all to try and distract her. 

The Viper… 

Lloyd knew far, far more about the murderer than he let on. The covert killer was more than mercenary: he was a hired assassin who moved in and out of a thousand circles. Over a period of years, the Viper snuffed out prime ministers and presidents, anyone for a price. Nigel was dead long ago. Lloyd wasn't a betting man, but that was a sure bet. And he hated having to string Sydney along with the vain hope of seeing her friend alive again. 

His gaze drifted back to Sydney, whose common sense finally won out over her stubbornness. Lloyd nodded almost imperceptibly while watching her down two of the prescription tablets. He worried when she took another measure, stretching out on the bed, letting her body sink into the luxurious linens. She was livid when they arrived to find her listed as "Mrs. Lloyd", and Claudia as "Mrs. Preston Bailey." Bailey and Claudia blushed in equal measure but seemed fine with the minor deception. Lloyd had to do some pretty fancy talking to convince the desk clerk that Syd really was his wife and that she was merely angry with him. 

Then again, this was a Muslim country, where even a white man's word was taken over the most vehement objections of a woman. Lloyd sighed again. If Syd were thinking right, she'd have understood the necessity of his ruse. They were three Americans and one Briton stepping into very dangerous territory. They had enough strikes against them already. Two unmarried women traveling with two unmarried men would be more than their religious hosts would tolerate. Even if it weren't for safety concerns, it would only create further animosity among their hosts, something they desperately needed to avoid. 

How could he take her into the streets of Cairo when she was in this condition? If Sydney knew how he really felt about her, how desperately he feared for her as she traipsed across continents, she might come undone. His eyes rose to the gaudy colors of the desert sunset, the western sky painted in shades of maroon and gold. At least, thank God, they weren't going anywhere tonight. She could insist until the cows came home, but he would keep her here until morning. 

He wished he could tell her more: that there were fifteen more operatives circling the area, that they had at least two dozen photographs now of the once-invisible Viper, pictures even now being circulated throughout the intelligence communities of the world. Unfortunately, for every man and woman with his agency, the Viper had a hundred eyes and ears, a network of evil siphoned from the pits of hell, men and women who killed without compunction. 

Originally, he had twenty operatives in secret accompaniment. Five were already missing. Lloyd didn't want to think about how they died. 

Finally Sydney's breathing slowed into an even pattern, and Lloyd let his perpetual grin slip. He was frightened for her now more than ever. What would she do when she discovered that Nigel was gone for good? Lloyd squelched the moment of hope, a hope that she would turn to him for comfort. He didn't have the luxury of offering her what she needed. With him - for all his best intentions - she would never know security. His job precluded settling down with the proverbial picket fence. _Not,_ he thought with a wry grin, _that Sydney would ever settle for that, anyway._

His fingers thrummed his thigh, reassured by the hard comfort of the gun strapped against his skin. Sydney might hate guns, but this enemy was high-tech, and Lloyd wasn't holding back anything when it came to protecting the beauty who sighed in her sleep, whose dark lashes were damp with the tears she was too proud to shed when awake. 

Syd didn't stir when the knock reverberated through their room. Frowning at the lack of response, he nearly made a fatal mistake. He opened the door without looking, without asking who it was. A young woman flew at him, stumbling wildly. He caught her, his training making an instant assessment. She didn't arrive alone nor by choice. His fingers closed around his gun and he fired without thinking. Behind the dark-haired girl, the assassin's goon crumbled to the floor. 

Only then did he let his gaze stray back to the trembling girl whose terror poured from her like a tidal wave. She was small and dark, but he realized she wasn't Egyptian. A crimson dot in the center of her forehead marked her as Hindi. Her loose green silk trousers and tunic weren't the traditional Muslim costume, though she'd taken care to cover her hair with a matching scarf. 

Kneeling beside her, he spoke softly, making no moves that might spook her. "Do you speak English, honey?" he asked. 

She swallowed and nodded, fighting for composure. Her mouth moved soundlessly for a moment, until finally she steeled herself. "My name is Amarja Lani. I'm Artie Reynold's assistant. I spoke to Miss Fox's colleague several days ago at the Egyptology conference. I knew they were close, but I didn't know until now how close. The Viper has Mr. Bailey and he knows where Ichriem is. We have to stop him! There's much, much more than we knew!" She wrung her hands in despair. 

Lloyd digested that bit of information. Now that the would-be killer was dispatched, they'd be forced to move quickly. Ill or not, Sydney would have to leave the hotel. There was a dead man outside their hotel room, a man Lloyd shot and killed. Whether killed by the Viper's militia or taken into custody by local authorities, they would lose everything if they stayed. 

"Tell me on the road, honey, we've got to get out of here." 

He gathered Sydney into his arms, uneasy at her lack of response. She must be in deep shock to be out so completely in such a short time. He draped her over his shoulder in a fireman's carry, praying the maneuver didn't do more damage to her wound. 

The older Bailey and Claudia were already there, brought out by the gunfire. Naiveté apparently had its limits; Bailey caught Claudia's arm and was pulling her along behind while they made their way to the stairwells. From the distance, sirens already wailed. 

And still, Sydney didn't wake. 

A chilling thought assaulted Lloyd. There was a chambermaid in after they arrived, a nondescript woman who dusted and vacuumed and straightened… 

What hotel sent in a cleaning woman immediately after guests checked in? 

He grabbed the prescription pills he'd shoved into his pocket, and examined them with a practiced eye. The prescription name on the brown bottle read _Darvon._ He knew the drug, had taken them himself once after being shot. And these pills weren't Darvon. 

Sickened at the implications, he kept moving, doing his best to cradle Syd's motionless form against him. His mind sorted through the implications. If they set off into the back streets, Sydney could die within minutes. If they went straight to the hospital, she could still die and they'd be held on murder charges. Hell, they could be held for murdering Sydney! 

Her breath was steady, and his fingers at her wrist found a reasonably normal pulse. In a split-second decision, he took a turn that led away from the hospital and into the narrow, winding byways of Cairo. Behind him trailed Preston, Claudia, and Amarja. 

End Part Twenty-Three


	24. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 24/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, May 11, 2003 (Happy Mother's Day to all the mothers out there!)

"Where are we going?" Preston whispered quietly, having been skulking through the back streets of Cairo for nearly fifteen minutes.

The panoramic colors of the Egyptian sunset had faded into purple dusk, growing darker with each passing moment. Any shops that presided along the partial cobblestone and mostly dust path they now followed had since closed, their shuttered entryways only lending to the notion they were moving into the unknown.

All around them lights and lamps began to glow through the sporadically placed windows of dilapidated buildings, but they did little to lessen the shadows on the street. "We're almost there." Derek answered, shifting Sydney in his arms. He liked to think he was in good shape, but carrying around 125 pounds of relic hunter wasn't something he could do for much longer. "I know a guy around here that can help us."

Preston thought the remark sounded cryptic. "A guy?" he repeated. Why did spies always seem to 'know a guy' everywhere they went? "And what sort of fellow is this 'guy'?"

Derek paused long enough to glance up at a sandblasted sign painted on a wall, then turned down a passageway to the right. "He's an old friend... he helped me out a few months ago, really saved my ass." He didn't like thinking about his last excursion to the city, it had almost been his last excursion anywhere. "He used to be a doctor before he retired a few years ago. Don't worry about it huh?"

Preston took the hint and remained silent as he followed the agent down another twisting byway. He only hoped the man knew where he was going. They'd taken so many turns down the coiling alleys and back streets of Cairo, he was starting to feel a unsettling kinship to a rat in a maze. Glancing behind him, Preston saw Claudia and the mysterious new member of their group, Amarja, following right at his heels. The later glancing up occasionally as though expecting assassins to leap from the rooftops.

Ahead of him, Derek suddenly came to a stop near a door that almost blended into the surrounding wall. "Preston," he whispered, gesturing for the other man to take charge of Sydney.

The Briton stepped forward, carefully taking the limp form into his arms. Free of his burden, Lloyd smoothly drew his gun and gestured for the others to stand back. Taking up a position at the side of the door, he gripped his pistol in his left hand, using his right to knock an odd rhythm on the wood. After a moment, an accented voice came from behind the door. "Who is it?" 

"It's Derek, Omar." He took a breath and delivered the pass phrase. "Is it the ides of March?"

"Not today," came the reply, "Rome is quiet."

Derek let out a sigh of relief and lowered his weapon. Seconds later the sound of a deadbolt opening reached his ears and the wooden door opened inward. A rather wizened face emerged from the opening and quickly took in the situation, gesturing for everyone to come inside. "Quickly," he advised. He looked to Derek in concern as Preston carried Sydney through the door, quickly followed by Amarja and Claudia. "What has happened my friend?"

"We ran into trouble," Derek explained, following Dr. Omar Rashid into the living room. "Can you take a look at my friend for me?" He pulled the pill bottle from his pocket and showed it to the old man. "I think someone tampered with her medication."

Omar took the bottle and frowned, prying off the top and shaking one of the pills into his hand. He studied it momentarily, then lifted it to his lips and tasted it with the tip of his tongue. It definitely wasn't the painkiller that was supposed to be in the bottle. "It's Oxazepam," he diagnosed. "A prescription benzodiazepine."

Derek frowned. He knew that word. "You mean it's a tranquilizer?"

"Yes," the Egyptian doctor bobbed his head. "Each one of these pills is ten milligrams." He moved to the couch where Preston placed Sydney and knelt beside her, carefully slipping a hand to her throat and checking her pulse. "How many did she have and when?"

Derek thought back to the hotel, how he'd watched Sydney shake the pills into her hand and grumble about having to take them. "Two," he answered. "About twenty minutes ago."

The old man shook his head, causing everyone in the room to slump in relief. "The dosage is too small... Her system has just been temporarily tranquilized."

"You mean she's asleep?" Claudia squeaked, standing at the head of the couch and looking anxiously down at her boss.

Omar smiled and stood. "Yes, very deeply at the moment, but she should be fine in a few hours."

Preston furrowed his brow, glancing at the doctor, then back to Derek. Something didn't make sense. "Why would they exchange a tranquilizer for her medication if they knew she wouldn't take enough to harm herself?"

"They were probably trying to slow us down," Derek answered thoughtfully. "Make us more vulnerable..." he shook his head and shrugged. "Either that or they're just stupid as hell and picked the wrong drug to swap out." 

Claudia reached over and laid her hand over Sydney's. "Are you sure this stuff..." she scrunched up her face to remember what he'd called the drug, "... Oxazepam? Won't hurt her?"

The doctor shook his head, meeting the secretary's concerned gaze with his kindly brown eyes. "I wouldn't worry. It's a very common drug, many people take much larger doses than the one she has. But tell me, what was she taking the Darvon for?"

"She was stabbed." Claudia answered, pointing to her own back for illustration.

"Stabbed?" The old man echoed, kneeling beside the unconscious relic hunter once more and carefully rolling her over to check the wound. He lifted the back of her blouse and probed the area for a moment, then settled her back into place with a grunt of satisfaction. "It seems to be healing well, there's no infection." He stood and moved back towards Lloyd. "The stitches may be bothering her though, when she wakes up I can give her some salve that should help."

Derek smiled. Omar was ever the professional, it was as if he'd never stopped practicing medicine. "You haven't lost your touch."

Dr. Rashid turned to the agent, clapping him on the arm. "Neither have you my friend... you still find trouble." He cast his eyes up and down the younger man and remembered his condition the last time they'd crossed paths. He'd known Derek Lloyd for nearly five years, and had feared their friendship was over a few short months ago when the agent appeared beaten and bloody on his doorstep one night. "So what is it this time? Who has stabbed your friend and tampered with her medication?"

Derek exhaled. "It's a long story Omar." He then launched into a short explanation, ending with why they'd fled the hotel. "No one saw the shooting, and I'm not even sure it'll be reported. If someone at the hotel was in league with that guy, they probably hustled the body out of there before the police showed up." He looked to Amarja. "I think it's about time you filled us in sweetheart."

The Hindu woman looked up, paused to gather some strength, and began speaking in a soft voice. "It started over a week ago. I was with Dr. Reynold here in Cairo. We had come in to talk to the police about Davis Campbell, he was Artie's dig assistant. They'd found his jeep outside of town, but not a trace of him." She paused and wrung her hands. "Dr. Reynold was upset, he loved Davis liked a son and didn't think the police were trying hard enough to find him. I told him he had to have faith." She swallowed hard. "When we left the station, there were some men following us. Dr. Reynold noticed them, and said he had a bad feeling... That was when he told me he was going to send me away."

Tears glistened the woman's eyes and Omar passed her a tissue. "What happened next?" Derek prodded gently.

Amarja took a shuddering breath. "He wanted me to go back to the university, but told me he'd call me back to the dig when it was safe. He said that if I didn't hear from him, I should contact Sydney Fox... He said he was going to send her something so she'd know Ichriem was real."

"The wooden statue," Preston supplied.

"Yes," Amarja confirmed, a light smile touched her face. "He carved it himself..." she trailed off, apparently not wanting to focus on the memory. "I did what he wanted, I went back to the university and waited for his call, but it never came. It was about that time that I began to think I might be being followed." She shook her head. "I didn't want them to know what I was doing, which was why I went to the Egyptology conference in New York… I remembered Dr. Reynolds was planning on going, and hoped I might find Professor Fox there." 

"And this is when you talked to Nigel?" Derek asked, remembering her rambling narrative at the hotel room. He noticed Preston lean forward slightly at the mention of his brother's name.

The woman dipped her head. "I saw him and Professor Fox come into the ballroom, but I couldn't just go up to them... I knew I was still being followed, so I tore the corner from a piece of stationery I found in the trashcan and wrote her a note."

Derek nodded. That safely explained the origin of the mysterious note.

Amarja continued. "I didn't get a chance to write much, but I hoped that along with the statue Artie was sending her, she'd understand what it meant. When I finished with the note, I noticed Mr. Bailey was alone, so I went to talk to him. I had just started to explain things to him when I thought I saw one of my shadows... I didn't want him to see who I talking to so I passed Mr. Bailey the note and left. I thought I'd have another chance to talk to both of them, but then I learned Professor Fox had been stabbed."

Derek kept his expression unreadable, his mind overlaying her version of events with what he already knew and scanning for inconsistencies. So far everything matched up. "When did you find out The Viper was involved?"

"Yesterday." She answered. "When I was in New York I got a call from a hospital here in Cairo, the police had found Davis, but they said he was unconscious and in critical condition. I got back here as soon as I could, it was the least I could do for Artie... I knew he wouldn't want him to be alone." She reached in the pocket of her silk trousers and withdrew a photograph, handing it to Derek.

The agent studied the picture, which depicted four smiling people standing in a rocky wasteland. The person he could only assume was Reynold stood in the middle. He was a white-haired, fatherly-looking figure with a deep tan and a wiry frame. In one hand he held a shovel, but his other hand was clapped on the shoulder of a young man standing beside him. Davis Campbell, no doubt.

The kid was probably about Nigel's age, but had sun-bleached blond hair and the build of college quarterback. A pair of thin-rimmed  
glasses sat on his nose, shattering his outward 'jock' persona and giving him a strong impression of intelligence.

On the other side of Reynolds stood Amarja, who wore a bright smile and had her arm wrapped comfortably around the waist of the unknown fourth figure in the picture... A man about her age who also appeared to be Hindustani.

Amarja pointed out the people in the picture. "This was taken about two weeks ago. That's Dr. Reynolds, and Davis, and me, and..." she couldn't seem to keep an almost dreamy note from her voice, "...my fiancée Rajiv."

Claudia leaned forward to study the picture with girlish curiosity at the word 'fiancée'. "Ooo." She toned in approval at the dark-haired man who sported a friendly smile. "Very nice." Her eyes then traveled across the picture and grew wide at the sight of Davis Campbell. *Definitely a cutie* she mused, then realized Amarja had broken her story off, leaving the newly found cutie in critical condition. "So what happened at the hospital?" She hoped it was good news.

"When I first got there," the other woman continued, accepting the photograph back from Derek, "Davis was still unconscious." She stared down at the picture momentarily. "He woke up the day before yesterday, but was too disoriented to make any sense, I don't think he even knew who I was." She shook her head. "But he's been getting better, and last night he remembered what happened and told me about The Viper."

"The Viper's the one who ran his jeep off the road?" Derek asked for confirmation. "How did he get away?"

"He doesn't know, but he thinks he was let go"

The agent arched an eyebrow. "He let him go?" That didn't sound like The Viper. Was the international mercenary losing his edge?

Amarja nodded. "Yes, he said the man was looking for information. At first he wouldn't tell him anything, and he was..." her voice cracked, "... beaten." She dabbed at her nose with the tissue, taking a moment before continuing. "Finally the man threatened to kill Dr. Reynold unless he cooperated. Davis said he told him everything he could after that, he didn't think Ichriem was more important than Artie's life."

"Did he actually see Dr. Reynold there?" Preston asked. 

"I don't know," the Hindustani shook her head. "But I think Davis thought he was... and he would have done anything to save him. He said after he'd finally given the information, the man told him he admired his devotion, and gave him some kind of injection. That's the last thing he remembers until he woke up in the hospital."

Derek mulled over the information and looked across the room to Preston. He could tell the other man was growing antsy... his little brother had been kidnapped, and now he was being forced to sit in a parlor and listen to what had happened to another victim of the same kidnapper. Hell, Derek thought it was frustrating, and he wasn't even family. "All right, so where do you think The Viper is?" It was time to get down to business.

"Morocco." Amarja answered without hesitation. "There's a small island off the coast called Mer de Tueur, that's where Dr. Reynold thought the statue was hidden."

"Morocco?" Preston echoed in surprise. "I was under the impression he was digging here in Egypt."

"He was," she answered. "Up until a month ago. Dr. Reynold uncovered a tablet at the old site that led him to the island. I don't know the exact translation though, Artie and Davis kept it to themselves."

"Oh man," Derek ran a hand across his face, suddenly acutely aware of recent events and of how little sleep he'd had since the whole mess began. He needed coffee... A lot of it... and he needed it now.

End Part Twenty-Four


	25. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 25/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, May 14, 2003

"Rise and shine, golden goose!" 

Bleary eyes refused to cooperate. Nigel grunted, dragging a hand over his face in a halfhearted effort to dispel the cobwebs. His face was slick with sweat, and his head and throat ached. On his second attempt he opened his eyes, though the world remained an unfocused question mark. The daylight was too bright, the heat too oppressive, the din too loud, the scents too acrid. His every sensibility was exaggerated and distorted by the remnants of fever. 

"Get up, Mr. Bailey. We need to get moving." 

Slowly, Nigel's vision cleared and his sight aligned to the unaccustomed surroundings. He took in the Viper's enigmatic expression. Was it some bizarre twist of concern, or just another version of the killer's blasé disregard for human life? 

Suddenly it occurred to Nigel that he was alive for a reason. It was more than revenge against Sydney, and more than the £8 million. The Viper was too pragmatic to play such an extreme hand merely for revenge, and with Ichriem on the horizon, £8 million was a paltry sum. Never mind the uncharacteristic concern for Nigel's welfare. 

That realization did nothing to calm the maelstrom in his stomach. If anything, it intensified it. He didn't care for the glittering hunger in the older man's dark eyes. If the larger, powerfully-built man was the Viper, then Nigel was a mouse caught in the same cage – and he felt a lot like he was lunch for the serpent. Without realizing it, he'd scrunched back against the wall, drawing the worn cotton sheet over him in a pitiful effort to cover himself. It was no consolation to hear the murmur of voices beyond the adobe walls. Those voices still spoke a muddled version of Arabic. He was still a prisoner in the most hostile of surroundings 

The Viper reached out and stroked a fingernail over Nigel's cheek, commenting, "You really should shave. I don't like the beard." 

This latest in a series of personal coontacts and sent a new shiver through Nigel's thin frame. The illicit drugs and the subsequent bout of heat stroke left him gaunt and shaky. Days (Weeks? Months?) of captivity decimated his sense of time and hobbled him more effectively than chains. He wondered how they were to navigate over the island of _Mer de Tueur_. If it was on foot, he'd never make it, not in his present condition. 

He was on his own. He wasn't going to be rescued. If he had any hope of escape, it would have to be on his own power, using what limited resources he could draw from his surroundings. Despite the Viper's claims that Sydney was facing a trap in Cairo, Nigel knew that she wouldn't walk out of the hospital. 

At the thought of Sydney, moisture flooded his eyes. Wouldn't walk out? He was afraid more than anything that she _couldn't_ walk out. 

"Stop wasting time, Nigel. I am not a patient man, and it's time for us to go." 

This time, there was no mistaking the tone. Nigel nodded acquiescence. "All right. Give me a moment to get dressed." 

The Viper stood, giving Nigel an expectant look. "Shower first." 

As hot and sticky as he was, Nigel would have given anything for a shower. But at that moment, with the other man's eyes devouring him, the thought turned his stomach. Reluctantly, he drew the flimsy sheet around him and padded to the tiny, shared bathroom down the hall. Along the way, dozens of dark eyes regarded him with contempt. If the heat and the drugs and the terror didn't do him in, the humiliation might. He shut the door behind him, closing out the staring eyes. The solitude was welcome for its respite, even while it reminded him again that he was entirely on his own. 

He let the sheet fall to the navy tile floor, and stared for a second at the ghost reflected in the broken mirror. He truly did have a beard. Not just a five o'clock shadow, but an actual beard. How long had it been? The haunted eyes that stared back at him couldn't really be his, could they? His normally pale skin was now gray and drawn, stretched over his skeleton. If there was any muscle or sinew left, it was invisible. Except for the unruly mop of brown hair and sunken hazel eyes, he nearly disappeared against the dirty beige plaster walls. 

Stepping into the shower, he had to brace his palm against the wall to remain upright. Antiquated plumbing groaned in protest when he turned the spigot. After a couple of sputtering false starts, the shower head finally settled on a reasonably steady stream. 

The tepid water felt heavenly as it sluiced over his body. He knew he couldn't risk wasting time, but this was one of the few moments when he was alone. His eyes raked over his surroundings, gazing through the open window that let in the sounds of a city. If he could get away, he might be able to disappear in the hubbub, but he didn't even know where they were. He had no clothing but a ratty hotel sheet, no passport, no money, no resources. Desperation poured over him like an extension to the water, permeating every pore. There was no escape. He was going to die alone in this godforsaken tributary of hell. 

"Nigel! Psst, Nigel! Hurry up!" Another of the ubiquitous Arabic robes was thrust at him. 

He nearly fell in his astonishment. Was he hallucinating? The hoarse whisper he heard didn't belong to the Viper. Too stunned to move, he froze in place, water still running over him. 

"For God's sake, Nigel, take it and get dressed! We don't have much time! Lloyd's gone after that Viper creature, and Sydney's sleeping it off, outside with Claudia. Don't dawdle, Podge!" 

At that instant, the hated nickname from his youth became a beloved endearment. "P-P-Preston???????" His knees gave way and his head lolled back. The hood fell back from his brother's head as Preston lunged to catch him. 

"Shit! Nigel, what did that monster do to you? Come on, little brother, chin up, we're getting you out of here." In one motion, Preston pulled the robe over him and wrapped him in a desperate hug. 

In spite of the seriousness of their predicament, Nigel retorted, "Don't call me Podge!" Then he did the perfectly sensible thing and passed out. 

End Part Twenty-Five


	26. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 26/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by snaggletaz@yahoo.com **

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: **Saturday, May 17, 2003**

"Nigel, oh god!, Nigel wake up." Preston slapped Nigel's cheek as gently as he could.

No response.

For one brief moment he feared the worst, and checked for a pulse "Thank god." Fear of discovery set in as Preston slapped Nigel's face harder. "Damn it, Podge, wake up!'' This time Preston was rewarded with a groan.

Nigel looked into his brother's worried eyes. It was true. This wasn't a dream... Preston was really there! "How did you find me?"

"I'll tell you later. Just concentrate on staying conscious long enough for us to get out of here. Can you walk?" Preston could feel Nigel shaking, and had doubts if his baby brother would even make it out the door before passing out again.

Nigel nodded, putting all his concentration into putting one foot in front of the other.

They exited together, Preston supporting Nigel as they tried to inconspicuously walk down the corridor. The less attention they attracted to themselves the better. "So far, so good." Preston felt hope surge through him. Just a few more feet and they would be home free. "Come on Nigel, We're almost........." 

"And just were do you think your going with my little goose, Mr. Bailey? The Viper hissed as he saw the Bailey siblings freeze in their tracks. "I'm not done with him yet."

Preston slowly turned around tightening his grip on Nigel. Were was Lloyd? He said he would take care of the Viper. Bloody hell, he didn't just get Nigel back to have that bastard take him away again - or worse! Preston, still supporting Nigel, did everything he could to put himself between his brother and The Viper.

The Viper scanned the hallway. If Preston was here, so was Fox, and Lloyd. He knew it had been a mistake staying as long as they had, and he was not a man who made mistakes. But the Bailey kid had been in no condition to go on. With any other victim he would not have given a second thought to killing them, but Bailey had been different. He liked him because he reminded him of his own kid brother. The Viper had not thought of his own brother in years, until a certain Brit had entered his life and reopened that wound.

Preston saw the bulge in The Viper's Robe and caught a quick glimpse of the gun that was now pointed at his chest. As Preston eyes rose to look at the man who was going to kill him, he saw Lloyd. Preston did everything he could to keep the hope from showing on his face, but he had never been good at fooling anyone.

The Viper knew Lloyd was behind him: the elder Bailey's face gave him away. The older man fired as he quickly ducted into the adjoining corridor, with Lloyd in hot pursuit.

The impact of the bullet sent both Preston and Nigel to the floor.

It took Nigel a couple of seconds to realize what had happened. Preston had been shot!

The remaining cobwebs in his head disappeared as he quickly scrambled to Preston's side. 

End Part Twenty-Six


	27. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 27/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, May 21, 2003

"Preston!" Nigel whispered franticly. "No!" Wintry tendrils of fear coiled tightly around his heart, threatening to completely overtake him. *Oh, this could not be happening… Not be happening!* Just minutes ago he'd been dazed by the sudden appearance of his brother, scarcely able to believe he was real and not a hallucination conjured up by a fit of delirium. But now a hallucination would have been wildly preferable. It sounded downright appealing. "Don't you do this to me!"

Steeling himself, he shakily pressed his fingers to his brother's throat, feeling tears spring to his eyes as he felt the solid presence of a pulse. A strangled sound halfway between a laugh and a sob broke from his throat and he wiped at the tears tracing down his cheeks. He was alive! 

Nigel silently thanked God and ignored the prying eyes of the questionable hotel clientele as he scanned his brother's robes, searching for what he could only imagine would be a grievous wound. After a moment he quickly located the point of impact, marked by a small hole in the baggy robe on the right side of his brother's chest.

Working quickly, he gripped the coarse material, using the bullet's tear as a starting point, and ripped it open. He mentally prepared himself for the worst, summoning up every scrap and ounce of information he'd ever learned about first aid. 

But as he finally gained a clear view of the situation, astonishment flooded his features. Beneath the robe there was a definite bullet hole in his brother's shirt, but no signs of any ghastly wound lingering beyond. There was no blood. Nigel plucked at the hole and frowned, spotting the dull end of a bullet poking from beneath the powder-burnt split.

Realization crashed over him along with a wave of disbelief: The bullet hadn't penetrated! Somehow, something had managed to stop it dead in its path, and after carefully reaching into his brother's shirt pocket, he discovered what that fortuitous 'something' had been.

It was a small, now twisted and bent, piece of stainless steel and shattered glass that took less than a moment for Nigel to identify.

It was his watch. 

The very same piece of sturdy Swiss craftsmanship that had once belonged to his father, the same one he'd fastened to his own wrist nearly everyday since his parent's funeral.

He studied the object with wonder, remembering wearing it the night The Viper broke into his New York hotel room, but not recalling when it had been taken from him. He'd realized it was missing of course, but assumed it had been confiscated to keep him from knowing the date or time. But now he knew the truth. The mercenary must have sent the watch to Preston as part of his ransom package, using it as some sort of proof of intent. And now the watch had just saved his life from the very person who'd sent to him in extortion.

Promising to savor the irony at a later time, Nigel palmed the remnants of the trusty timepiece and used his free hand to lightly slap at his brother's face. "Come on Preston!" he urged, looking fervently around the dirty corridor. "I need you."

Many of the locals seemed to have lost interest, as though they saw shootings in the hallway everyday, and had milled back into their rooms. A handful still peered from their doorways, probably waiting to see if Nigel would leave the "body" alone long enough for them to creep out and frisk it for valuables. Nigel shot the nearest such lurker a dirty look, which evidently must have been pretty convincing, sending the man back to his room with a mutter of Arabic. 

He grabbed his brother's shoulder and gave him a vigorous shake, this time rewarded with a groan as Preston blinked into consciousness. Nigel slumped, both mentally and physically, in relief. "Welcome back," he said with a soft smile.

Preston stared up at the ceiling, blinking and turning towards his little brother. "Nigel…" he started, breaking off with a wince as the deep bruise on his chest made itself acutely known. "Ooh," he groaned, moving one hand to cover the area. "What happened?" His eyes suddenly went wide with unspoken realization and he redirected his hand, reaching up to clutch Nigel's arm and desperately sweep his eyes over him. "Are you hurt?" he demanded, pushing himself up with his free hand.

"No," Nigel shook his head, noticing the remaining hotel lurkers had become completely disinterested, shuffling off their separate ways as soon Preston began speaking. "I'm alright. How do you feel?"

Now sitting up, the elder Bailey sucked in a couple of deep breaths, wincing sharply. The entire right quadrant of his chest throbbed with bitterly raw pulses that seemed to echo straight through his body. He felt like a sledgehammer had attacked him. "I think saying 'sore' would be a bit of an understatement…" He looked down at his clothes, pushing aside the robe and catching sight of the bullet hole through his breast pocket. He looked to Nigel in shocked bewilderment. "I was _shot_?!? But…" Words seemed to fail him. "Then how…?" How was he still alive?

Hearing the unspoken question, Nigel opened his fist, taking his brother's hand in his and pressing the distorted remnant of the watch into it. "You might say," he was unable to resist, "it was in the nick of time." And never had a pun held so much truth. 

Preston pondered the remark, then caught his first glimpse of what Nigel had given him and felt his jaw drop. *The watch*… He ran his fingers over the warped surface, noting the small caliber bullet still firmly lodged in place. He was no ballistics expert, but deduced the bullet must have struck at an angle, otherwise it would have gone straight through the relatively thin layers of stainless steel. It was a well-made watch, but it wasn't designed to act like a Kevlar vest. A fraction of a millimeter in either direction, and he wouldn't have been so lucky.

"I was bringing it back to you," Preston explained quietly, still staring at the twisted timepiece. He looked up. "I know how much you loved it."

Nigel shook his head. "It doesn't matter. There are some things," he smiled tightly, meeting his brother's gaze, "that I love much more than that watch." 

Preston blinked at the unexpected declaration and a warm smile broke across his features, seeming to erase the last frantic days of tension and uncertainty. "And there are things I love much more than eleven million dollars." He reached out his arms and pulled his brother into a hug, ignoring the strain and protest of his bruised muscles. "Before Sydney came along I was going to give it to him Podge, without a second thought. I wanted you to know."

"I know you would have." And he did. Nigel tightened his hug at the words, then let go and pulled back. "So are you ready to get out of here?"

Preston rolled his eyes. "You've got to be bloody kidding."

They both scrambled to their feet, Nigel giving his brother a hand up. At the moment, adrenaline was his still best friend, giving him much more stamina than he'd had a mere ten minutes ago. The two crept quickly down the hallway and paused at the outside door. Nigel opened it a crack and peered out, not seeing any sign of either The Viper or Derek Lloyd.

At the thought of the agent, Nigel realized he had about a thousand questions he wanted to ask his brother. How had they ever found him? And how had they done it so quickly? The Viper had claimed to have over a day's head start… seemed rather proud of it in fact. What had happened in Egypt? Had there really been a trap? Now wasn't the time to ask, but he hoped to have answers as soon as they made it to safety.

"Well," Preston asked, "do you see anyone?"

"No," Nigel scanned the area again. If there were any shady characters out there, they were too shady to be spotted. "Where's Syd and Claudia?"

"They're hiding somewhere across the street. We're going to meet up with them." He gave Nigel an appraising look. "Are you ready?"

"You've got to be bloody kidding." Nigel echoed his brother's earlier response.

Preston grinned, and together they flipped up the hoods of their robes, pushed open the door, and stepped into the street, gladly leaving behind the dingy hotel and all its dubious patrons.

End Part Twenty-Seven


	28. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 28/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, May 25, 2003

Still groggy – and imminently cranky – Sydney drew the black cotton robe around her, adjusting the filmy veil to cover her face. As much as she hated the very idea of the burqua, she recognized its necessity. Deep in the heart of Algeria wasn't the place to challenge the status quo, especially not while her friends were scattered in a half dozen directions. 

As much as she hated to admit it, the extended sleep did her good. Her back was significantly less painful and she was slowly regaining her strength. She stopped short of actually being thankful. She'd save that until she got Nigel back. 

Claudia was asleep in the next room, the one shared with Nigel's brother, Preston. Sydney smiled at the thought. If ever there was an odd couple! 

Then again, they were no more odd than her and Lloyd, and nobody bothered to challenge their fraudulent marital state. It would have been easier with Nigel, she thought wistfully. Lloyd made advances while holding himself at a distance. The government man reminded her of a predator, a lion that circled his prey before pouncing for the kill. He was dark and mysterious, sleek and powerful, and she was never quite sure what seethed behind his midnight eyes. He was dangerous and exciting - and she knew that in the end he'd walk away, leaving her wounded and crying. 

And then there was Nigel. When it came to matters of the heart, Nigel couldn't keep a poker face if he were paralyzed. If Lloyd was a lion, what was Nigel? 

Funny... When she first encountered Nigel, he was a puppy dog, eager to bound ahead until something frightened him and he ran to hide behind her. But as time went on, he grew in both confidence and competence. In academic matters, he was the stronger partner from the word go. If he wasn't on equal ground in some areas, well, turnabout was fair play. Nigel was... Nigel. He wasn't like anyone or anything else. 

With a sigh, she walked over to the open window, eyes raking the dusty streets for any sign of Lloyd or the Viper. She wasn't naïve enough to really believe her teaching assistant was still alive, but a part of her refused to let go of the last vestiges of hope. It was that sliver of hope that kept her going, that infinitesimal chance that she might get to see him again. As long as she held onto the ghost of a prayer, she could still find the impetus to do what she had to do. Her knuckles were white where they curved over the adobe ledge. Sydney looked out across a sea of human ambiguity: men and women and children hidden away from each other beneath swaths of cotton. Their all-encompassing robes separated each person into his or her own microcosm. 

The door creaked behind her and she turned, her heart jumping in hopes of the impossible. But it wasn't Nigel. She dropped the stifling veil, letting Lloyd see her naked grief. 

His expression froze her heart. "I'm sorry, Sydney. I tried everything I could to get there first. There was a confrontation in the hallway. Preston got the kid, got him that far, but the Viper was armed. He dropped them both with one shot." 

Tears flooded her eyes. "Are they all right?" The alternative was unthinkable, even when she read it in the weary slope of his shoulders. 

He shook his head. "Sydney... This Viper dude, he's a pro. He doesn't miss. Preston took a shot to the chest." 

"What about Nigel?" 

"Sydney…" 

"What – about – Nigel?" she demanded. "If the Viper only fired one shot, it's not likely he hit them both." And suddenly she clutched her stomach, resisting the urge to wretch. "You didn't even think about Nigel, did you? All you cared about was capturing the Viper. It was never about saving Nigel, not for you…" She stumbled back, her eyes wide with horror and her voice breaking. "How _could_ you? I was right, you're an animal. All you care about is the prey." 

He closed the distance between them in two strides, wrapping his fingers around her upper arms. With all the ferocity of the lion she imagined, he hissed, "That's not true, Sydney. I care too damned much for my own good! I care about _you!"_ He leaned in and mashed his mouth over hers in a kiss that was pure possession. 

She was so distraught that didn't see the door open. She didn't see Nigel's face crumble when he witnessed the embrace. She didn't see when the little Englishman quietly closed the door and walked away. She didn't know he was capable of the resolve that would let him hunt for Ichriem alone, even if it meant facing the Viper single-handedly. 

And she didn't realize that in the sea of humanity beyond the mud-brick walls, one of the robed multitude was now running away from her as fast as she was running to find him. 

End Part Twenty-Eight


	29. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 29/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, June 8, 2003

Preston Bailey paused outside the door to his hotel room, feeling as though a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. As if the gods had given Atlas a respite, taking away the burden of holding up the world.

Since the beginning of the horrid ordeal, from the moment he'd first seen the ransom video, he'd tried to stay positive, telling himself everything would be all right and daring anyone to say otherwise. But a small part of his brain, one he'd incessantly told to shut up, had had the audacity to pitch hard truth at him in his weaker He's dead already' it had whispered, 'You'll never see him again'. And in a few of those weak moments, late at night as he fitfully tossed in bed, he'd nearly believed it, finding himself honestly asking "What if?"

What if they couldn't find his brother? What if the Viper had killed him? The ransom note had warned about bringing anyone else into the picture... What if one day Nigel really was shipped home in separate boxes as the villain threatened?

Preston had stubbornly pushed those thoughts away when they reared their ugly heads, but unfortunately "what ifs" traveled in packs and preyed on weakened misgivings. What if he never got to tell Nigel how sorry he was for the way he'd behaved? *What if I never get to tell him how much I really care?* *What if he dies all alone, thinking I failed him when he needed me most?* 

And that struck at the heart of the matter because, for the first time in ages, he did care about what his little brother thought about him. All through their youth he'd seen Nigel as his rival, as an opponent to be bested. He hadn't generally cared what his brother thought about him… winning was more important, being the best was more important. As long as things went his way and he got what he wanted, the world was perfect in his eyes.

Preston had wanted to be perfect... the perfect son, the perfect pianist, the perfect student, even the perfect Boy Scout. But there was one thing he hadn't tried being perfect at, and that was being a big brother. He'd failed Nigel so many times he couldn't even begin to guess the number. As a brother he'd been a pathetic flop, and while he felt he'd made some positive inroads over the past year, he still wondered if he was truly making things right or merely smoothing them over in his mind's eye.

Being faced with The Viper's gun, all the `what ifs' had returned, slamming against him with more force than the assassin's bullet. Thoughts of his personal safety had all but vanished, leaving behind only the overwhelming urge to protect his little brother from the ultimate bully. In that split second, he knew the progress in their relationship had been real, not just a figment of his guilty imagination, and he'd been overjoyed.

But then there was an explosion and the world faded to black. 

For all intents and purposes, he should have been killed. The odds of the watch being just where the bullet struck were nearly boggling. The pack of ravenous `what ifs' sensed fresh meat and once more began circling like vultures. `What if?... what if?' they chanted over and over in his mind. Preston didn't know how to answer them, but did know he'd been spared, call it fate or divine intervention, but he'd been given a second chance. And this time he was doing things right. 

As he debated whether to knock on the door of the hotel room he shared with Claudia, or use his key, he sensed motion and glanced up in time to see a robed blur moving down the adjoining hallway. He frowned, moving towards the corner where the two corridors intersected. There'd been something familiar about that blur. Poking his head around the corner, he realized what it was... Nigel. And he was in a hurry.

What the bloody hell? "Nigel!" he called, stepping into the connecting hall. He'd expected his brother to stop, but he showed no signs of slowing down. *Where does he think he's going?* Making a decision, Preston hurried after his brother, following him out of the hotel and into the sun-baked street. After a few moments, he'd caught up enough to attract his brother's attention without drawing anyone else's. "Nigel?" he tried again. "What are you doing?"

Nigel stopped and slowly turned around at his brother's voice. "What does it look like?" he asked defensively.

Preston was surprised by his brother's tone, but not only that, dismayed to see how upset he seemed to be. "Nigel," he said, putting a gentle hand his sibling's shoulder. "What's wrong? Did Sydney say something to you?" He couldn't imagine the relic hunter saying anything that would send Nigel running into the street, but it was possible. Another thought occurred to him. "Wasn't she in the room?" 

"Oh no, she was in the room," Nigel spoke with a certain amount of bitterness in his tone. "Right along with Derek... they were kissing." He shook his head slightly and looked up to meet his brother's eyes. "Didn't she even care Preston? Doesn't she know the sort of hell I've been though? I could have been killed, you too for that matter, and what does she do?" He made a frustrated gesture with his hand. "Use the whole situation to carve another notch in her bedpost!"

Preston tightened his grip on his brother's shoulder and steered him off to stand beside a merchant's canopy, the proprietor of which was happily selling a variety of earthen pots. "I don't think it's been that way at all. She's been worried like mad, as much as I've been. I'll admit I don't know what's going on between her and that Lloyd fellow, but I haven't really seen any romantic sparks. I can't think of why they'd be kissing... are you sure that was what they were doing?"

"I know what I saw." 

Preston remained silent for a moment as he mulled over the situation. "I know this may not be the best time, but what exactly is your relationship with her? Do you love her?"

Nigel slowly shook his head, pondering the best way to explain feelings he'd never put into words. "There's different kinds of love." He finally answered after staring at the ground a moment. "I do feel a love for Sydney... there's no reason to lie about it, but it's not the sort of love you might think it is." He tilted his head to the side slightly. "It's like she's opened my eyes to the world." A note of wonder crept into his tone, "I'm not even sure how to describe it, but she's taught me so much... working with her has shown me more than I ever thought I'd see. She's given me so many  
wonderful experiences and opportunities that I never would have had. I think she's probably the best friend I've ever had, and I'll always love her for that." 

A light smile drifted across the elder Bailey's face in comprehension. "So you think that after seeing her kissing Lloyd while you were running for your life she might not value your friendship as much as you do?"

"Yes!" Nigel blurted in near surprise. "That's it exactly!"

Preston nodded. "Believe or not Nigel, I do understand." And for the second time in the same day he felt as though he'd tapped into his big brother instincts. "We all have our favored friends in life... And I think you're very lucky to have found one." He chuckled shortly. "Most of us poor sots are still scrounging around looking for ours. You can't just run off and leave her now. I've watched her the last few days... I know how much this situation has hurt her. Trust me Podge, don't give up on her."

Nigel hung his head a moment, finally looking up with a chagrined expression. "You really are worth more than a watch aren't you?"

For the first time in what seemed like days, Preston laughed in genuine amusement. "I certainly hope so. Now come on," he tugged at the front of his brother's robe like a fashion critic. "Straighten up. We're going back to that hotel and trust me, when you see her, you'll know how much she missed you." He finished his straightening and placed both hands on Nigel's shoulders. "All right?"

Nigel smiled and nodded, feeling considerably better. "All right."

At that moment, the purveyor of earthen pots noticed them near his business and thrust a sample of his wares under their noses. "Nice pot!" The old man pitched in a heavy accent. "Handmade!" He flashed a toothy grin and gestured to his merchandise. "Good price, yes? You like to buy?"

Preston arched an eyebrow, eyeing the pottery with professionalscrutiny. "La shukran," he replied in a polite `no thank you'. "Come on Nigel. I think that's our cue to leave. Assalamu alaikum," he bowed to the shopkeeper. 

The old man, now realizing he wouldn't be making a sale, merely shrugged as though it were a common phenomenon. "Walaikum assalam," he answered, already scanning the street for any new likely customers.

Preston guided his brother away from the shop, lowering his voice and inserting a note of bemusement. "Authentic handmade pots... straight from Mexico."

And Nigel couldn't help but smile as they made their way back to the hotel.

End Part Twenty-Nine


	30. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 30/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Thursday, June 19, 2003

Nursing a fresh black eye, Lloyd pounded a fist into the flat motel pillow. Here in the middle of nowhere, accommodations were scarce, pricey, and considerably less than four stars. His frustrated punch sent up a cloud of dust from the bedding.

Things were spiraling out of control, and Sydney was dead right. Her accusations sliced through his conscience and gnawed at his gut like a desert rat. He'd walked away, letting two men die. He didn't check either of the Bailey brothers for a pulse. Hell, he didn't even look back! Yeah, it was his job to apprehend and stop the criminal. But his first responsibility, both as a peace officer and as a human being, to see to the safety of innocent civilians. 

There was no excuse for his behavior, under any circumstances. But after Sydney cold-cocked him with a much-deserved left cross, he was forced to confront the real reason for abandoning the other men to the tender mercies of an assassin. Lloyd swallowed, the thought so bitter it turned his stomach. 

He was jealous of Nigel Bailey. 

The shoulder holster went on without conscious thought, thanks to years of practice. Standard-service revolver, _check._ Ammo, _check._ Two backup firearms, _check._ Four strategically-hidden knives, _check._ The loose homespun cotton robe hid all. 

_How can Sydney like the little dweeb? Is it because she's strong enough she doesn't need to feel protected? Or does some part of her get off on protecting the kid?_

A shiner would create complications. With his dark complexion, Lloyd could pass for a native. He was more fluent in the tongue than he let on. _Never let your enemy know the full extent of your capabilities._ But a blatant injury like that, when they were undoubtedly being watched, could generate an instant death penalty for Syd. He prayed she had enough typical female in her to carry a makeup bag. While the blond chick would carry concealer, her pale coloring meant her cosmetics would be useless to Lloyd. 

_Regardless, Sydney's love life isn't the issue any more. And whether you like it or not is irrelevant. You owe her to find what's left of her friend. Then you need to get your ass back to the states and turn in your badge for good._

Sydney still paced. She was looking awfully pale again. Fear glittered in her eyes and lined her lovely face. She could maintain a perfect poker expression for a relic, but when the little Englishman came into the picture, she was transparent as hell. The dejected slump of her shoulders screamed out: _You're as much as a murderer yourself, Derek Lloyd! You walked away and let them die!_

"What are you doing?" 

Lloyd glanced up at her, shrugging. "I'm gonna find them. If either of them is alive, I'll find him and bring him back to you." He yanked the sun-bleached linen over his head. No matter how many times he was assigned to the Middle East, he would never get used to wearing a glorified dress. 

"Not without me, you're not, not this time." 

"No." He didn't intend to argue with her on this. It was his mess, and he was the one who had to clean it up. "You aren't well enough to fight, and it might come to that." 

"I'm going." Determination sent a wave of color back to her cheeks. "I owe him that. I refuse to sit on the sidelines any more." 

Clipping every word, he growled, "No, you're not. You're going to stay here. I can't find the Bailey kid if I'm constantly worrying about you." 

"I'm not a kid, and you don't have to find me." 

Lloyd's head snapped around at the British accent. Nigel Bailey was alive and standing just inside the threshold! 

Simultaneously, Sydney cried, "Nigel!" and flew at the little Englishman, throwing her arms around him. 

Bailey's eyebrow rose upon seeing Lloyd's shiner, but then it was all about Sydney. The young man returned her embrace with equal fervor. "Syd… You're alive!" Bailey's voice broke and tears welled up in his eyes. Obviously, the kid returned Sydney's feelings. 

No big surprise there. Any man would, with a woman like Sydney Fox. 

Lloyd straightened. All right, he could be magnanimous. He knew when he'd lost. "I'm sorry about your brother, Nigel." He extended his hand to the victor. 

"What about me?" Preston strolled in the door, Claudia on his arm. Preston Bailey smiled, catching sight of Sydney and his younger sibling still clutching each other. "Why are your sorry about me?" 

Lloyd grimaced. It made sense that the brothers would stick together, but it still irked him to no end. Was there _anybody_ on his side? And as relieved as he was that the men were alive – _you're not a murderer, at least!_ – he knew there would be another kind of hell to pay. If they lived, it was no thanks to him. 

"Never mind," he grumbled, excusing himself and making a hasty exit. He had to arrange for them to go home. Let somebody else deal with the Viper. Lloyd didn't want any more innocent blood on his hands. His eyes were unfocused while he strode down the narrow hall. At the back of his mind, the little voice warned him too late. _You're distracted in enemy territory. You can't let down your guard yet!_

He recognized the scent of ether. A rag was clamped over his nose and mouth and the last thing he recalled was a familiar voice that hissed, "You're really beginning to annoy me, Secret Agent Man. Time for me to open the next ante. I want Ichriem, and I need Professor Fox's help to find it. If I can't have her assistant, I'll borrow another friend to insure her compliance." 

The rag silenced Lloyd's bitter reply. _You lose this round, you bastard. Because Syd doesn't care if I die._

End Part Thirty


	31. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 31/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Monday, June 23, 2003

Meanwhile, down the hall, and for all intents and purposes, a hundred miles away, Sydney was still basking in Nigel's return, almost afraid to let him go lest he waver and vanish like a desert mirage. 

As much as she'd hoped and prayed and wished and dared to dream, she'd wondered if the moment she now shared with her assistant would ever come. "Oh God Nigel, I missed you," she whispered softly in his ear, tightening her grip around his thin body and ignoring the tears that traced down her cheeks. "I wasn't sure we'd get here in time," she confessed, burying her face against the rough cloth of his shoulder. For the first time in nearly a week, her world fell back on its axis, righting everything that had been thrown askew. Her kindred spirit was once more at her side. 

"It's all right Syd," Nigel whispered in return, closing his eyes and wondering how he could have ever doubted her friendship. Witnessing the near murder of his brother, coupled with a week of fear, drugs, and uncertainty had dangerously clouded his judgement earlier, but now everything glittered with crystal clarity. "Even if you hadn't made it, I know you would have tried your best." 

Sydney let out a ragged breath of relief as his words washed through her mind and soothed her soul. As much as she hated to admit it to herself, she'd been afraid… not only of losing her friend forever, but of disappointing him. Nigel kept a light of special faith in her abilities, she'd seen  
it in his eyes several times when things took a turn for the worse. It was a light of total trust, and there were times when it scared her… times she wondered if she could live up to it. No one had ever trusted her the way Nigel did, and likewise, she had never trusted anyone the way she trusted him. 

They clung to each other a few moments longer in mutual silence, each lost in their own world of thankfulness, before finally disentangling and standing apart. At the separation, Claudia left Preston's side and pounced, flinging her arms around Nigel and giving him a sisterly kiss on the cheek. 

"Nigel, I'm so glad you're alright! We were all so worried." She pulled back and looked him over with a frown of concern. From all outward appearances, it seemed a wonder the young man was on his feet. Despite having been traveling through the desert sun, his complexion had paled at least two shades, fading from a healthy cream to Cliffs of Dover chalk. Shadows lingered around his eyes and lightly smudged his cheeks, and even the baggy robe he wore couldn't disguise the fact he'd lost several pounds. "Are you okay?" 

Nigel bowed his head slightly. "I wasn't," he answered truthfully, glancing across the room to catch a tight smile of encouragement from his brother. He couldn't help but return the expression and pass it on to Claudia. "But I think I'm getting much better." 

At the reminder Nigel wasn't feeling up to par, Sydney stepped forward and took him by the arm, leading him to a seat on the corner of the bed. "What happened Nigel?" she asked gently, carefully monitoring his reaction. "Did he hurt you?" 

*Did he hurt me?* Nigel weighed the question. Physically, The Viper had scarcely touched him. "He never struck me if that's what you mean." And it was true: The Viper had never raised a hand against him. Injected him with sodium pentothal? Yes. Drugged him? Yes. Humilated him? Yes. But hit him? No. Not even in the distant New York hotel room had The Viper been the one to knock him out. Of course, he only had the assassin's word about that, but for some reason he had believed the man. 

"You mean he _never_ hit you?" Sydney repeated incredulously, scrutinizing her assistant closely. True, she didn't see any bruises on his face, but that didn't mean the evidence wasn't elsewhere. With everything she'd learned about The Viper, it seemed hard to believe he wouldn't have been crueler to his captive. Then again, he had apparently released Davis Campbell… released him beaten and sedated, but released him nevertheless when it would have been easier to kill him. 

Nigel shook his head, seeming to know what the relic hunter was thinking. "I promise Syd… not a hand." He sighed. "The first couple of days I'm afraid he kept me drugged enough not to need to hit me." At this, Sydney covered his hand with hers, and he noticed a very dark emotion pass over  
Preston's face. "After that," he continued, "we were on the move and he needed me awake, but seeing as we were in the middle of the desert, it wouldn't have done me much good to try an escape." He shook his head. "We were traveling in a sort of caravan… and I'm afraid I became rather ill… I remember I passed out and woke up in an airplane." He furrowed his brow slightly. "The Viper had rented it to take us to Sid Ifni, but it was odd… he actually seemed rather worried about me." 

Sydney frowned. "Worried about you?" 

"I find that rather hard to believe." Preston muttered, having come to stand beside his brother. 

"So did I." Nigel agreed. "But it wasn't the first time I sensed something like that… every once in a while I'd get these flashes of humanity from him." He glanced around, having a feeling what some of his audience might be thinking. "And no, it wasn't Stockholm Syndrome." Claudia flinched  
slightly at this, and Nigel continued. "But I do think he was a little concerned." He shook his head. "The plane he hired was forced to land here… some sort of mechanical problem I believe, but The Viper put off driving on to Sid Ifni because I had a bit of a relapse." 

All Nigel's talk of being ill and having relapses caused Preston to promptly feel his forehead for a fever. Nigel tried to shy away, but was too slow. "Hold still," Preston chastised. "You're warm," he diagnosed, withdrawing his hand. 

"I'm fine," Nigel protested, although he had to admit, it was rather weak protest. He'd lost the battle before he'd even started fighting. 

Sydney's hand promptly took Preston's place on his forehead and she frowned. "He's right Nigel, you're warm." It felt as though he were running a low grade fever… nothing too serious, but nothing to take lightly. 

"All right," Preston took charge. "We can ask questions later. You," he took Nigel by the arm and pulled him off the bed, ushering him toward the bathroom, "are you going to get in there and get washed up. Take as much time as you need, use all the bloody hot water in the building if you want to. While you're busy with that, I'll go back to my room and get you some clothes and some aspirin." He flashed his little brother a reassuring smile. "And don't worry about The Viper… he's probably long gone by now." 

"Maybe so." Nigel agreed, but knowing the mercenary the way he did, he wouldn't bet on it. 

End Part Thirty-One 


	32. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 32/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Saturday, July 5, 2003

Smoke curled through the cracks in the wall, another reminder that in this world, a secret was merely something too new to have made the rounds.

The Viper cast a dispassionate glance at his latest acquisition. Where the little Briton reminded him of his departed little brother, Lloyd reminded the Viper of everything he was not. The government man struggled against his restraints. Lloyd's mind and body were resistant to the drug cocktail, too, but he wasn't omnipotent. Between the drugs and the beatings, it was just a matter of time until the agent broke. 

They all broke eventually. 

Killer or not, the Viper took no joy from his latest victim's agony. How ironic... Here was a conquest worth claiming, a worthy adversary, a man for whom stoicism reigned and for whom a heart was merely another muscle to be controlled and manipulated. Something told the Viper that he could amuse himself for months on the torture that Lloyd could endure. 

But the truth of the matter was that he didn't care what Lloyd could tell him. Lloyd wasn't the center of this increasingly complex maze. Sydney Fox was the brass ring on this little merry-go-round, and her proximity taxed his patience. He supposed he could simply march in and collect her. In her present state, she would be unable to adequately protect herself. Yet something held him back, some perverse sense of fairness that wouldn't let him touch her until she was recovered enough to make the contest worthwhile. 

Lloyd was the bait, nothing more. 

In a new and rich layer to the story, the spy seemed quite convinced that Sydney not only wouldn't come to his rescue, but she'd set out to do him even more bodily harm. It raised the Viper's opinion of the Sydney by several notches, especially when he realized that the agent's black eye was her doing. 

In fact, the more he learned about the female relic hunter, the Viper found himself more intrigued. At first his intent was to create and play out her worst nightmare. He didn't count on his soft spot for the little Briton, granted, but Bailey's stead did its job. How apropos... Just when I would have had to kill Bailey, the professor's entourage provides me with an alternative. The Viper was perfectly efficient at what he did. When the situation required, he killed without compunction. But contrary to his reputation, he didn't kill without reason or rhyme, nor for the joy of ending a life. 

He would kill Derek Lloyd in the right time, as he would kill Nigel Bailey, Nigel's brother, the blond secretary, and ultimately Sydney Fox herself. They had seen him, had torn a gaping hole in his security, and he couldn't leave them to throw out a net for his capture. 

In another world and a lifetime away, the Viper was just a man named Anthony Vezzetti. Thirty years after his brother was murdered in front of his eyes, Anthony Vezzetti was gone. Thirty years later, he never expected to see his older sibling reincarnated in a little Englishman, especially not one belonging to his arch enemy. Nor did he expect to feel such a magnetic pull from his prey. 

End Part Thirty-Two


	33. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 33/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by SassyJ ( sassyjluk@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Wednesday, July 9, 2003

The Viper straightened up, enough of this speculation, he needed to move now. He viewed his victim dispassionately, reached over to the table and picked up the syringe. He leaned over the agent, the blue eyes blazed defiance at him, as he plunged the needle into Lloyd's upper arm.

Derek Lloyd's entire body convulsed as the firestorm ripped through his veins, his body arched and he rose a full ten inches off the dusty bed despite the restraints. The Viper smiled, an interesting new twist, the scream torn from Lloyd's agony was a name. Her name. Then he frowned as the agent began to choke; quickly the Viper sliced through the ropes and flipped the agent onto his front, holding his head over the edge of the bed. He needed Lloyd alive for the time being.

Lloyd retched miserably, finally satisfied that he was done the Viper lashed his wrists tightly into the small of his back, crossing them and fastening the knots high so that the agent couldn't hope to reach anything to free himself. For a second he considered tying the man's legs to the bed, but the limpness of the body convinced him that it was unnecessary. He left.

~*~

Sydney curled the note between her fingertips. She'd read it through four times before her befuddled brain could grasp what it was saying. The Viper had Lloyd, the Viper wanted Ichriem, Lloyd for Ichriem, simple. Except it wasn't simple, she didn't have Ichriem. That the agent would suffer more if she prevaricated or delayed the Viper had made clear.

Syd tried to tell herself that she didn't care. Lloyd knew what he was getting into, he was a government agent, so he'd lost this one. The little voice in the back of her brain told her otherwise. The sinister words of the note had left their indelible impression, she could almost feel the pain he was suffering. But you have Nigel and Claudia, and Preston to consider, she tried to repress the memory of blue eyes blazing into hers, the feel of his lips on her mouth. She screwed the note tightly into her hand.

Nigel watched her closely. In his mind's eye, he was reliving the kiss between Sydney and Lloyd; Sydney had read the note out loud, and Nigel understood more than she had intended him to. The agent meant more to her than she either knew or was willing to admit. Nigel squashed his own jealousy, that wasn't important now. He disliked and distrusted Lloyd, but he wasn't just going to stand by and watch Sydney suffer or leave the agent to die.

"Sydney, we have no choice, we have to give the Viper what he wants." Having made his decision, Nigel didn't waste time.

She looked at him impatiently, but Nigel could see the stress and fear, "Nigel, we don't have Ichriem, even if we did, how long do you think the Viper would let Derek live once he has it?"

Nigel fought his own jealousy, just when had the agent become "Derek"? "Sydney, we have the clues, we can find it." He cajoled her, "Isn't it worth the risk, for Ichriem? To save Lloyd's life?" He couldn't bring himself to use the agent's first name.

Sydney hovered in an agony of indecision, which was not her style. Nigel hated seeing it, and the pain that she was holding in, her lovely face was white and she shifted restlessly.

Nigel continued with his more forceful role, he was the one taking the decisions now, despite the desperate situation a tiny thrill swept through the edge of his consciousness, this was the first time he'd felt on an equal footing with his mentor and friend. For the first time, their contributions were going to be equal. He held out his hand, a second's hesitation and Sydney clasped his fingers. They were in this together.

~*~

Lloyd gradually came to, he was alone, the sixth sense that made him a tough and reliable agent was functioning, just. He tried an experimental movement. Pain was sweeping through his entire body, from his split and bruised lips to his swollen, bleeding wrists lashed so cruelly tight behind his back. He had one thought only, Sydney, his own life was forfeit, but he could still save her. He managed to push himself off the bed, falling heavily to the floor, the jolt barely forced a moan from him, his suffering was already so great. A tremendous effort of will, he dragged himself to his feet. The room was spinning wildly. He had to get out.

He staggered around, trying to find some way of freeing his hands, finally finding a jagged piece of glass. He leant against the wall trying to get his breath and find the strength to cut through the ropes binding his wrists. The thought of Sydney drove him on. With that iron determination he used to focus on what he needed to do, in spite of who gets in the way, Lloyd turned round, he managed to rest his bound wrists on the glass at the fourth attempt he reeled slightly, forcing himself to hold on, he began to saw at the ropes.

Ignoring the pain from the glass cutting into his skin, ignoring the damage he was doing to himself, he focussed everything onto Sydney. He didn't realise at first when the ropes began part, then his arms dropped weakly to his sides and he staggered. His arms were a mess, wounds in the backs of his hands, his wrists, deep cuts bleeding profusely from his arms, almost up to his elbows. Despite the pain, Lloyd held on, stumbling towards the door. The Viper must have been distracted, or didn't see me as any threat, the door was unlocked. Lloyd didn't wait to thank him for his oversight, he staggered out into the night.

~*~

Sydney poured over the few scraps of information that she had. Concentrating on the documents, she finished reading and turned to Claudia.

"Claudia, we need tickets to Morocco, get on the phone and see if you can come up with four tickets on a plane leaving in the next 24 hours."

Claudia was going to say something, caught sight of Sydney's face and left to do her bidding without a word. The agony in Sydney's eyes  
had a profound effect on the little blonde.

Nigel brought a coffee to her. Sydney hadn't paused in five hours, she was exhausted and in pain, so Nigel was taking care of her. 

"Drink this." He held out the coffee cup to her. Sydney took it gratefully, grateful too for his strength and understanding. Somehow in the last few hours their roles were reversed and she was coming to realise that Nigel was so much more than her assistant now, he'd come of age in so many ways. Her smile was genuine affection and love.

Nigel brightened slightly. He was even starting to feel a bit more magnanimous to the missing agent. He picked up his own coffee and set about the task of distracting Sydney a little more. She needed the rest.

He'd barely settled into his seat, when there was a faint scratchy knock at the door. Instantly on edge, they looked at each other. Warily, Nigel got to his feet and walked over to the door, Sydney just behind him. Cautiously he reached out for the doorknob, nerves zinging, he glanced back at Sydney, the pain and tension was back in her face, cursing to himself Nigel opened the door.

Derek Lloyd crumpled into Nigel's arms. The agent's weight dragged them both to the floor. Nigel couldn't contain his gasp of shock at the man's condition.

Sydney was on her knees, "Derek?" No response, gently she and Nigel lifted him onto his back, the throbbing from Sydney's healing wound beat in time with the hammering of her heart as she sought a pulse. The condition of his arms made her want to weep, the flesh of his wrists so torn and swollen, she was having trouble finding a pulse. Finally she located it, it was thready, irregular and very weak. Nigel eased out from under the agent and reached for the phone.

Sydney cradled the brutally beaten agent in her arms and prayed for this nightmare to end. Right then she was prepared to hand Ichriem to the Viper, if he would just leave them alone. Knowing that this would never happen.

End Part Thirty-Three


	34. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 34/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Tuesday, July 15, 2003

The Viper strode through the bustling streets of the small Algerian town, smoothly blending into the crowd like a native son. A casual observer would be hard pressed to single him out as a foreigner among the teeming masses.

Darkness had fallen upon the city. The sun had set over an hour ago, but the merchants were still out in full force, their tents and carts and meager storefronts lit by lamps or dangling light bulbs. They had no intention of missing a potential sale... daylight or darkness meant nothing when it came to making dinars.*

The Viper dodged the multitude of indigenous peddlers with seasoned ease, never giving one the chance to give an Arabic `hello', much less start a sales pitch. It was a skill honed to a fine art by the locals, people who spent most of their time beating off the merchants with a proverbial stick. If any of the local-yokels actually owned any of the second-rate goods available on the street corners, he'd be more than surprised. 

Sidestepping a grizzled man eagerly selling glass beads, the mercenary crossed the street, making eye contact with no one yet seeing everything around him. A few more minutes and he'd be back at his hotel... his second such residence in the same day. True, this one was five times as run down as his earlier choice, but it served its purpose as a temporary holding cell, and The Viper definitely wouldn't be checking in for the night.

Not only did he have decidedly higher standards, but the point was moot: Before he went to sleep he'd be away from this desert rat nest and safely in Sid Ifni.

The meeting with his pilot had gone well. With no commercial airport within fifty miles, the plane was stationed just outside of town, repaired and ready to go. He smirked as he thought of Sydney Fox, without a plane she'd be forced to find alternative transportation. Even if she found a taxi or bus to take her to a distant airport, she'd still be hours behind him. All he needed to do was collect his cargo and he could be on his way. The advantage was his. 

He lowered his head as a swirl of wind pushed by with a loose cargo of grit and sand. With a grimace, he raised one hand to help shield his eyes.

He hated the desert. 

Hated the way the heat swept over a person like a thermal blanket in summer. Hated the way the sun beat down as though it had nothing better to do. Hated the way impromptu sandstorms billowed out of nothingness and abraded everything in their wake.

And to top it all off, he hated camels. 

In a normal situation he immediately doubled his fee if it required even the slightest jaunt into a desert, but for his Ichriem buyer... well, he made an exception. The potential half-billion dollar payoff was enough incentive to not only trek across the Sahara, but do it with a smile.

Arriving at the outer door of his hotel, he pushed it open and tried to ignore the dank smell of mildew and rotting drywall that drifted through the hallway. To call the place 'a dump' would be a noble compliment. He imagined Nigel Bailey would have something appropriately droll and crisply British to say about it. The kid had been interesting, without a doubt one of the most memorable hostages he'd ever taken. Nothing like his replacement. 

Lloyd was the product of government training and conditioning and had counterparts all around the world who were probably mirror images. The United States, Russia, England... no matter what country dispensed them, 98% of spies were alike. They were fast thinkers, quick shots, easy liars, and above all, they hated being caught unaware... they hated being caught period. It was a social taboo in their elite inner sanctum, a dark blotch on their record of subterfuge. 

The only fun in kidnapping spies was to see how good they were, how fast they'd give in, how soon they'd talk and spill the secrets they'd trained so long to keep. Lloyd was obviously a good spy, The Viper would give him that, but even good spies had a breaking point. 

Approaching the door to his room, he reached in his pocket for the key and froze before his hand was halfway there. 

The door was already partially open. 

Quicker than lightning, he swore and drew his gun, kicking the door and sending it slamming into the wall behind it with enough force to embed the doorknob in the crumbling plaster.

Bursting in the room, his eyes flicked around the interior and his foreboding suspicion was confirmed: Derek Lloyd was gone. He swore again, a vicious string of obscenities that would make his grandmother turn over in her grave.

How could he have been so careless? So sloppy? Leaving Lloyd, a man trained to escape the inescapable, alone and relatively unrestrained... What the hell had he been thinking? That the drug would be enough to keep the agent down? He'd learned long ago never to underestimate an enemy, and he'd just seriously underestimated Derek Lloyd.

Pacing the room and hastily weighing his options, the mercenary happened to glance down and notice a piece of glass lying discarded on the warped hardwood floor. Retrieving it, he turned it over in his hand, seeing the traces of fairly fresh blood around the jagged edge. Clever. *So that's how you got away Mr. Lloyd.* As irritated as he was, The Viper managed to summon up a wisp of grudging respect for the agent's resourcefulness. 

Lloyd had probably escaped over half an hour ago, and The Viper knew exactly where the man would go... back to Sydney Fox and her little entourage. The good professor was probably still in her hotel, but would no doubt be planning a hasty retreat at any time, especially if Lloyd made it back to her. It was a problem, but no problem was without its solution.

Going back to Fox's hotel was out of the question, it would not only be stupid, but also pointless. He knew he'd never be able to recapture Bailey or Lloyd here... the situation was wrong, the rhythm was off. His decision was plain: He'd continue as though nothing had happened and fly to Sid Ifni as planned. He knew where Ichriem was, and sooner or later, Fox would come to him.

He'd bide his time, the way he always had, and as it always had, the method wouldn't fail him.

Studying the piece of glass in his hand once more, he abruptly drew back his arm, hurling the bloodstained shard against the wall, and smiling as the shattered pieces fell to the floor.

End Part Thirty-Four

*Dinars are the currency of Algeria. One dinar is equal to about 74 cents in US money.


	35. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 35/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, July 20, 2003

"Sydney, there's no airport here, but I've got a flight out, anyway. There's an independent pilot ready to fly tonight, heading for Sid Ifri. He said he leaves at sundown, and if we're not there, there won't be a refund. We'll have to take a camel caravan or catch one of two local buses, which may or may not leave sometime in the next week or two." Claudia announced the small miracle in the same nonchalant tone as if announcing a new color of nail polish. 

_Tonight... How could they possibly leave tonight?_

In the two hours since Lloyd's return, Sydney had all but paced a rut in the stone floor. Her eyes darted back and forth between Nigel and Lloyd, each man asleep after his ordeal with the Viper. She no longer pretended that she didn't care. Each man was a part of her in his own way, each filling a gap in her heart that was uniquely his. She'd come so close to losing them, and realized in the process that she was not prepared to yield either of them to death. 

"Thanks, Claudia." Sydney knew that her secretary deserved more than the halfhearted courtesy, but it wasn't in her. She was exhausted, her body ached, her mind and heart were in turmoil. She probably needed sleep, herself. Of course, it wasn't going to happen. Sundown didn't give them much time. 

Ironically, it was Claudia who did more to hold their little caravan together than anyone else. The blond secretary and Dr. Reynolds' assistant, Amarja, already had everything packed and ready to go, even had a replacement passport for Nigel. There was no telling what had happened to the original document, given the erratic, hopscotch race across three continents. 

Amarja... There was another mystery, if there was ever time to put the puzzle pieces together. Truth be told, Nigel hadn't yet seen the girl who claimed to have slipped him the note, at the conference. She'd been elsewhere from the moment he returned. When was their encounter, anyway? A week ago? A month ago? A lifetime? The Indian woman could be a spy for the Viper, for all Sydney knew. Reynolds had an assistant, yes, but Syd didn't know the assistant's name, and thought the assistant in question was male. While there hadn't been any other reason to doubt the girl's veracity, right now everything and everyone had to be suspect. Their survival could well depend on it. 

Sydney knelt beside Lloyd, resenting the fact that she would have to rouse him. "Lloyd?" she murmured, stroking his cheek. "Derek? We need to head out. You've got to wake up." 

His response was a grunt and a nod. He pushed himself up slowly, painfully. A hot breeze flowed through the open window, tugging at his short brush of dark hair. Sydney noticed that he avoided her gaze, and she didn't push it. Neither of them was ready to look too closely. She couldn't handle his vulnerability right now. 

Before she allowed herself to consider that evasion, she moved to Nigel. Tears welled up in her eyes at the dark circles surrounding the hollows of his closed eyes. Nigel's vulnerability was another matter. He once said all he wanted was a nice little teaching job. He wasn't a trained government agent in danger by choice. He was here because of her, because she'd drawn him into her quest. "Nigel," she whispered, leaning so her lips moved mere inches from his ear. He still hadn't shaved off the dark beard, and his face was so thin he was barely recognizable. Much as she had with Lloyd, she stroked fingers over his cheek. "Nigel, wake up." 

Nigel's eyes fluttered open and he gave her a wan smile. "Morning already?" he whispered back. 

"Not exactly," she confessed. "Our plane leaves at sundown, with us or without us. It's probably the best deal we're going to get out of here." 

"Then by all means, let's go. The sooner we're out of here, the better." He accepted the hand she offered to help him up. Yet somehow it seemed that he was helping _her_, his relative calm steadying her increasingly failing balance. 

The knot of travelers met in the narrow hall mere moments later. Nigel's eyes went wide when he saw the young Indian woman. "You?" he asked, frowning. "You're all right?" 

Amarja blinked. Having only met the Englishman once, briefly, she clearly didn't recognize the horribly thin, bearded stranger. "Do I know you?" She took a step back, swallowing, her breath coming in short little puffs. 

"I'm Nigel Bailey. We met at the conference? You passed me the note about Ichriem." 

She peered at him for a moment until the tension flowed from her shoulders. "Yes. I recognize your voice. Mr. Bailey, I am truly sorry to have drawn you into this. I didn't know where else to turn." 

_So it was true. One less thing to worry about,_ Sydney thought. "Let's go. There's not much time." 

Any large group of strangers would draw unwanted attention in this place. There were few travelers. This wasn't a tourist attraction. But with all that had transpired, none of them were willing to part company, least of all Sydney. 

There were no taxis here on the outskirts of a Saharan oblivion, either. They walked to the small dirt airstrip, each of them playing his or her respective part. All three women wore their traditional burqa and trailed the men the proscribed number of steps back. Each man was swathed in all-hiding robes, moving with as much grace and dignity as his condition allowed. 

The pilot eyed the female passengers with distaste, and for a moment Sydney feared that he'd deny them entry, but he stepped aside to admit them all. For once, Sydney was glad that the women would be the last to board the propeller-driven vehicle. She wasn't going anywhere until she knew all of her people were safe. 

Only after they were airborne did they stop to consider the one passenger who wasn't a member of their own entourage. 

A familiar laugh chilled Sydney to the bone. 

"I am not a religious man, but perhaps I should offer up thanks to Allah. I could not done better if I had planned this myself." 

Turning, she knew what she would see before she actually saw him. "Viper..." she breathed as she stared into the business end of a gun. 

End Part Thirty-Five


	36. 

**Favoured Friends**

**Part 36/?**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by SassyJ ( sassyjluk@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Saturday, July 26, 2003

For what seemed an eternity, Sydney stared down the barrel of the gun. The Viper's triumph was obvious, *I've lost*, suddenly it almost seemed easier to cave in, to let him kill her. Then Lloyd and Nigel stepped in between her and their enemy. Lloyd got right in the Viper's face, while Nigel pulled her aside, protecting her with his body.

The Viper's delighted laugh split the tension. "How melodramatic." Lloyd was weak and exhausted, and when the blow came he didn't have the speed of reaction or the strength to parry it. The butt of the pistol connected with his temple and he crumpled to the ground at the Viper's feet. Nigel and Sydney moved to help, but the assassin gestured them back.

"I'll take care of Mr Lloyd, Dr Fox. You really should concern yourself with Ichriem," the voice lowered to a sibilant hiss, "Find Ichriem for me, and perhaps I will let you and your companions live."

Nigel looked him straight in the eye. "Oh, of course, you will. That's what all this has been about, the kidnappings, the beatings, " he looked down at the semi-conscious Lloyd at their feet, "all so you can let us live. Even a child could see through that." He turned to Sydney, "We've seen his face, so he has to kill us!" Scared as he was, Nigel managed a withering contempt that neither Sydney nor Claudia had thought him capable of.

For a micro-second the Viper wavered. It wasn't anything you could point to definitely, but Sydney noticed. Perhaps Nigel was the key, if she could save Nigel and Claudia then may be this wasn't all in vain after all. The tiny kernel of hope began to grow within her. 

~*~

Two hours later and hope was beginning to fade again. The Viper had pushed them all to the back of the plane, away from the door, so that he could watch them all. Any hopes that the man would let sleep overtake him quickly disappeared. The assassin was still alert, cool and watchful. 

Sydney busied herself with her most immediate worry. The health and well-being of the two men in her life. Nigel was still exhausted, his moment of defiance had taken a lot out of him. He was stretched out on the floor next to her and she took time to ensure that he was comfortable and could get some rest. 

Then she turned her attention to Lloyd. The agent was in a very bad state, the Viper had produced a set of handcuffs from somewhere, and in a gesture of cruelty that made Sydney sick to think of it, secured the injured man's wrists behind his back. Ignoring the bandages around Lloyd's wrists, the Viper had closed the cuffs viciously tight. 

"Derek?" Very carefully, Sydney tried to ease him into a more comfortable position, from the awkward sitting position he'd adopted. For a brief second their eyes met, then he collapsed against her. She stared hard at the Viper, she didn't care about her pride, all that mattered was the injured man leaning so heavily against her. 

"Please. Just let him go, he can't do you any harm." For a second, she thought he was going to deny her, then the assassin shrugged, reaching down into a pocket, he flipped a key at her. Retrieving it, Sydney scrabbled at the locks, steadying her fingers and then freeing Lloyd's hands. Gently she peeled the dressings back, Lloyd had recovered slightly as his hands were freed and he held onto his pain as the wounds were revealed. It was a mess. The wrist wounds had started to bleed again, and the flesh surrounding the wounds was swollen and hot to the touch. 

Sydney glanced up in surprise as Claudia detached herself from the side of the plane where she'd been since the takeoff and moved to help Sydney patch up the agent's arms. "Derek, we're going to have to clean these up." Syd's tone was almost flat, for an instant their eyes met and then slid away again, even now they weren't ready to acknowledge their vulnerability to each other. He nodded, "yeah." 

The monosyllabic answer was enough. Sydney didn't need complications, so she took care of the simple things. As yet, she had no answer for their plight; for the first time in her life, she was facing ruin with no answer, no plan; for a woman used to winning this was unsettling. She was doubting her own capabilities. There was pain in her heart, a pain absorbing her whole being, *Nigel and Claudia*, she'd dragged them in. They had no right being in this, risking everything to back her up. She had no right asking it of them. She was feeling a failure. Syd straightened her back, the tightening of her healing wound reminded her why they were here. *My fault*. 

She took the cloth that Claudia handed her, dabbing at the wounds on the back of Derek's right wrist, the gashes were deep and looked nasty. The spy stiffened at her touch, somehow she continued to the next cut, but the pain she was causing him despite his best efforts to tough it out was searing through her. She paused at the third cut, deep and oozing, her fingers were trembling. Desperately, she tried to clench her fist, to steady her nerves. 

The cloth was gently removed from her grasp, and Lloyd's right hand pushed into hers. Claudia took over, as though she was born to it. Syd's slender hand trembled beneath the spy's strong square one, and the short blunt fingers closed gently round it. Their eyes met and it was as though the circuit was complete. Whatever love she felt for Nigel, this was a very different emotion coursing through her. *Love*, Syd turned the idea over in her mind, her eyes never wavered from his. She tried to read his expression, despite the intensity of his gaze she couldn't. Disappointed she was about to look away, when the curtain dropped, and everything she both hoped and feared blazed out. 

Lloyd knew they were probably going to die, he tried to hold on, not burden her with feelings that she could never return, he knew what she thought of him. But the pain of his injured arms overwhelmed his control. Nothing the Viper could throw at him could break him, but Sydney could reduce him to marshmallow with just one look. The irony made him smile, a feared assassin had no more effect than a bluebottle on a hot summer's day, but a beautiful, headstrong, intelligent, talented woman, and he was a basket case. Suddenly he threw caution and common sense to the winds. He loved this woman, he had no right to love her, no right to desire her, but he did. And he didn't have the faintest idea what he was going to do about it. 

~*~ 

Nigel Bailey lay on his side, apparently dozing. His mind was racing. Through half opened eyes he could see the bizarre triangle clearly. Claudia as nursemaid *Now there's a turn up for the books*, Sydney as the nervous lover, and Lloyd. Jealousy coursed through Nigel's veins, he could see the spy's expression clearly, and he had no doubt of Lloyd's feelings. Then a strange and grudging respect took over. He could empathise with the agent, it was clear that Lloyd was not going to act upon the naked emotion that Nigel could see. 

A momentary glance at the Viper told him that the assassin hadn't seen the passionate exchange. *Good, the gentleman has quite enough leverage as it is. Nigel coolly considered his options, *their options*. The Viper wanted Ichriem, once he had it, they were dead. 

Nigel considered what they had. Themselves, each other. There were six of them, and only one Viper. For the first time in his life, Nigel Bailey's thoughts had murderous intent. He knew they only had a few short hours left, the plane was near its destination and once there they had to be ready. So Nigel lay quietly listening to the drone of the engines and formulating plans in his head. 

End Part Thirty-Six 


	37. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 37/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Tuesday, July 29, 2003

Across the aisle, Preston Bailey sat, alternating his gaze between his little brother, who to the untrained eye, appeared sleeping, and The Viper, who looked on the verge of capturing the Olympic gold medal for smugness. 

*The Viper*... Preston narrowed his eyes. Until now, he hadn't had a decent look at the man who had rapidly become their nemesis. Their first fleeting encounter in the hotel hallway hardly qualified as a thorough inspection.

The dark African night streamed by the windows of the airplane, and to keep a better eye on his captives, the mercenary had flicked on several over-head reading lights to ward off the darkness. Eerie shadows hung darkly in the corner of the plane, filling the front of the aircraft and slowly diminishing as they crept back towards the light.

And there, in the focal point of the light, holding his pistol, poised and secure in his own belief of victory, sat The Viper.

Overall, Preston wasn't overly impressed. He didn't know what he'd expected really... a hulking behemoth? An odd character with a pet snake? Someone with a peg leg, an eye patch, and a hook? The Viper was so... ordinary. Nothing stood out and screamed `villain!'. Preston found something infuriating about that. After everything he'd been through, everything Nigel had been through, it hardly seemed possible this was the person responsible.

As though sensing Preston's thoughts, The Viper glanced at him, favoring him with an idle smirk. "I bet you wished you'd taken my advice," the villain spoke in a low voice, attracting no one else but Claudia's attention. "If you'd given me my money, you wouldn't be in this mess Mr. Bailey."

"Perhaps not." Preston agreed coolly, using an equally soft voice. The twin engines were droning loud enough to blot out any conversation, but he wanted to make certain he wasn't overheard. He leaned forward slightly. "But tell me the truth, would I really have ever seen him again?"

The Viper arched an eyebrow, cocking his head to one side as he considered the question. It was something he'd asked himself a dozen times since he'd started the job. The answer had seemed to change every minute. Finally he clicked his tongue slightly and shrugged. "I'm afraid I couldn't say."

"Couldn't, or won't?" Preston challenged. At his side, Claudia gave him a disbelieving nudge, but he ignored her.

"You're suspicious," The Viper smiled, sounding almost pleased. "I like that, but this is the truth. Before you and Fox showed up and ruined my plan, the odds of you seeing him again were probably over fifty/fifty. Despite what I'm sure Lloyd tried to scare you with, pointless killing rarely makes me happy." He paused for a moment. "If you'd delivered the ransom and if I'd found Ichriem, then yes, I probably would have let him go alive and well. I may have let him go even without Ichriem." 

And why wouldn't he? He'd always lived up to his kidnapping agreements, and if he failed to pocket the half billion-dollar prize, he could easily change his appearance and fade into obscurity with eleven million. Whoever Nigel Bailey gave a description to wouldn't matter. Hair could be dyed, a beard could be grown, and money could buy a lot of things. The kidnapping had been for the multiple goals of earning a little extra pocket change, learning more about Ichriem, and most importantly getting revenge on Sydney Fox. If the ransom had come through, all those objectives would have been covered. But now, things had become much more difficult.

Preston shook his head, not willing to believe what he was hearing. "You would never have let him go."

"Wouldn't I?" The mercenary asked. "You're so sure I'm lying... Why? Because I kill people?" He laughed quietly. He never tired of the irony. "That doesn't make me a liar. I think the truth isn't what you wanted to hear, is it?" His voice became harsher, but remained quiet. "Because the truth is, if you had followed my instructions, he would have a better chance, and you could be at home, safe and sound. Is that the truth you were so interested in?" he hissed. "Knowing what your lack of judgement has cost you?"

Preston stiffened in anger, his hands clenching into fists beneath the concealing sleeves of his robe. He wasn't a man prone to violence but the urge to belt The Viper with a strong right hook was nearly overwhelming. It was a lie, it had to be. He'd followed Sydney and her government friend based on their word, believing it was his brother's only chance. While he would have gladly paid the ransom, they'd talked him out of it, convincing him Nigel faced certain death either way. But as he stared into the villain's liquid brown eyes, he saw something there he didn't like and could scarcely bring himself to believe: he saw the mercenary was telling the truth.

A foreign voice crackled over the paltry speakers in the plane, advising everyone in a happy Arabic voice to buckle in and prepare for landing in Sid Ifni.

The Viper leaned back slightly, the smug expression returning to his face as though it had never left. "I'd fasten my seatbelt if I were you."

Preston averted his eyes. At his side, Claudia muttered not to believe The Viper, but it was too late... he'd already been shown the truth. The horde of `what-ifs' he'd fought while Nigel was missing came creeping out of the darkness and lurked at the corners of his mind.

He looked to his brother, knowing by instinct his sibling wasn't really sleeping. All through their youth, Nigel could play opossum with the best of them, and apparently time hadn't stolen the knack. He wondered what his brother was thinking... wondered if he knew the truth. *I hope I haven't made a terrible mistake in coming here.*

And as he watched, he soon saw Nigel open his eyes and glance around, pushing himself up with one hand. It was then he caught his brother's gaze and perceived a spark of something he hadn't seen in a long time: It was Nigel's "I-Know-How-to- Sneak-Cookies-Out-of-the-Kitchen" look. The "I've-Got-an-Idea- that-Just-Might-Work" glimmer that often heralded a scheme that either worked brilliantly or backfired completely.

The Arabic captain came back over the speakers, announcing their descent as the plane slowly began lowering towards the ground.

Preston locked eyes with his brother and tightened his gaze. *What are you up to Podge?* But Nigel's only response to the scrutiny was a wink and a smile so slight it almost wasn't there. A bump beneath the fuselage announced the lowering of the landing gear. In minutes they'd be on the ground, and then... he traded glances with his brother again, sensing that whatever plan Nigel had cooked up had solidified... *God help us all.*

End Part Thirty-Seven


	38. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 38/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Monday, August 11, 2003

Sydney, too, read the glimmer in Nigel's eyes. She buried the panic it engendered in her. Her teaching assistant's heart was in the right place, but their enemy was a merciless killer, a man who hunted relics and humans with the same heartless disregard for what was right.

Then again, lately Nigel had begun employing his intelligence to overcome the devilry they encountered, often as not turning in streaks of ingenuity she didn't expect. There was the parking lot in which he disabled truck after truck, simply by yanking distributor caps. His simple and pretty much infallible plan probably bought them their lives, especially when he augmented it by using a working vehicle to break her out of a jail cell. Not long after, he used a jeep to scatter their enemies, rolling rough-shod over tents and driving pell-mell into armed soldiers. He could have been killed, but he jumped to her rescue, just the same. He was thinking on his feet. 

Her breath caught in her throat. 

Nigel was becoming a relic hunter. 

The ground was rising to meet them. Whatever they were going to do, they had to do it quickly. Fresh out of ideas, she grudgingly accepted that whatever Nigel's plan was, she was going to have to go along with it. 

"Sydney?" 

Subtle inflections in his pronunciation captured her instant attention. She arced an eyebrow, and he grinned at her. 

_"Sydney,"_ he repeated, and she finally understood. She also felt all the blood drain from her face. What worked in Sydney, Australia, worked on sheer luck. A fraction of a second's miscalculation and they'd be dead! Before she had time to object, Nigel looked her straight in the eye and said deliberately, "Sydney, I love you, and I am sick of you pushing me away." He turned to their captor and complained, "All I asked was one lousy kiss. That's all. I think if we're going to die, I should at least get a kiss, don't you?" 

Amusement flickered over the Viper's face. "How touching. Sure, kid. Go get your kiss. I'll take over from there. Sydney owes me." He leered at her, making his intent perfectly clear. 

Sydney hoped that the killer didn't notice how dark Nigel's eyes grew at the stark insinuations. She had to play her part and pray that lightning would strike twice. "Nobody kisses anybody," she hissed, leaning forward in her seat. Her palms were so slick with sweat that the upholstery was damp beneath her hands. "I am not going to air our dirty laundry here. You know very well why I turned you down. That blond tramp was more important to you than I was!" 

Nigel was on his feet, facing their enemy. "I didn't touch the blond!" he protested. "All I did was touch her hand like this!" Moving faster than anyone expected, Nigel grappled for the gun, and all hell broke loose. The weapon went off, Claudia screamed, Nigel shrieked, and Sydney launched herself into the fray. Only this time, so did Lloyd and Preston! The resulting knot of arms, legs, heads, and torsos rolled onto the floor, and the pistol fired again. 

There was a bump as the plane touched down, but the passengers were locked in a deadly five-way embrace. 

"I SAID STOP!" 

If nobody heard Claudia before, they heard that screech. 

The wrestling match was over when all five pair of eyes rose to the slender secretary, who was standing in front of the pilot's compartment, pointing the gun into the middle of the fight. "Don't think I won't do it," she warned. "My daddy taught me to shoot, and I have three first-place trophies to prove my aim." 

Without missing a beat, their pilot's voice came over the tinny loudspeaker. "Welcome to Sid Ifni." In one smooth motion, the swarthy pilot emerged from his seat and captured Claudia's wrist, wrenching the gun from her hand. "Thank you, my dear. I wondered how to get things under control. Looks like you did it for me." With a casual flick of the weapon, he gestured for Claudia to join her companions. He lifted a defiant face to his captives. 

Sydney swore beneath her breath. From the bewildered expression on the Viper's face, she knew that the pilot wasn't a partner in his venture, either. 

The five combatants slowly rose, peeling one off the next like layers of an onion, each eyeing the other. Preston blinked, Nigel shook his head, Lloyd rolled his eyes, and Claudia scowled at their new problem as she moved in to stand with the rest. 

"Ama, my darling, you were right." 

To Sydney's astonishment, the little Hindu woman pushed through them and sauntered to the pilot's side. "Davis Campbell, you were magnificent!" Leaning up on tiptoes, she brushed a kiss along his dark jaw. Sans cosmetics, her exotic features were difficult to categorize. Was she Indian, or Arab, or some other ethnic mix? 

"Campbell!" Sydney gasped. "You're Artie Reynolds' assistant?" 

"His _former_ assistant, my dear Dr. Fox. You see, Artie and I had a little disagreement. He wanted to turn Ichriem over to some sterile scientific museum for study. I had somewhat more profitable thoughts in mind. I knew that if the Viper were involved, it meant big money. So I arranged for my little kidnapping, brought my little Ama into the loop, and voilá! But I knew I couldn't do it on my own. I needed Dr. Fox and her assistant to find the relic, and the Viper to connect me with his buyer. The extra two players were just pawns to get my queen into place. Now," he growled, "We have a boat to catch." 

For good measure, he added, "And if I were you, I wouldn't try anything like those heroics again. Unlike your friendly Viper, I rather enjoy a good murder. 

End Part Thirty-Eight


	39. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 39/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Gayle ( thegrandgfc@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, August 17, 2003

They filed off the plane, giving half-hearted attempts at being casual as Davis Campbell led the way out of the tiny airport.

Nigel was walking next to Sydney, slightly frightened because she had been completely silent since Campbell had threatened to kill the lot of them. He could only think of two times when Sydney had been so quiet. Both times she'd been knocked out. "Sydney, say something."

"I'm going to skin him from the inside out and find a way so he's alive the whole time."

"Not quite what I was going for, but I'll know to specify next time." 

Sydney blinked a few times before Nigel's words fully penetrated her thoughts. She smiled just barely at the dryness in his tone. "Sorry, but I can't come up with words of encouragement right now."

"Not looking for any. I'm searching out whether you have a plan." 

"My first offer still stands."

Nigel grinned, glad beyond measure to see the glint of determination in Sydney's eyes. "We'll call that Plan B. What's Plan A?"

"I have a suggestion." The Viper's voice made the hairs on the backs of their necks stand up. "If you'll listen."

"I'm not quite sure how any plan you have is going to help us."

"You won't be at the mercy of a cold-blooded killer."

Nigel snorted. "And what are you?"

"Just a guy trying to make a living."

"Sell patio furniture." Sydney glared at the Viper. He just stared back until she clenched her jaw. "What's your plan?"

"Syd!"

Nigel's tone and near-shout caused Davis Campbell to stop and turn around. "Is there a problem back there?" The flash of bloodlust in his eyes made it obvious he was hoping for one.

"Nothing. Nigel just misheard me." 

"He 'mishears' you again, I'm cutting off his ear." Cambell gave a wolfish smile to the group. "And then I'll cut off everyone else's for trophies." He turned back around and kept walking.

Sydney kept her voice to a whisper. "What's your plan?" 

"Sydney, have you lost it?" Nigel stared at her in disbelief. "He kidnapped me. He nearly _killed_ Lloyd, and you want to make a deal with him?!"  
  
"If it was just you and I in this, I'd say no. I'd let it play out, but I'm not going to risk Lloyd, Claudia, and _your brother_ on the off-chance I can save all of us. If we try anything when there's no plan, someone will die, Nigel. My options are very limited."

"No kidding." Nigel glared at the Viper for a second, then he looked at Sydney. She was waiting for him to okay it, because if she was going to risk her neck, Nigel would be right by her. Sydney wanted his help from the start. Finally, muttering he had to be a complete idiot, Nigel looked at the Viper. 

"What's the plan?"

End Part Thirty-Nine


	40. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 40/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Saturday, August 30, 2003

*What's the plan?*

The Viper grinned in reply. "Good boy." His dark eyes flicked to Davis Campbell and tightened into a critical glare. *A rank amateur.*

He'd seen dozens of Davis Campbells in his time… and they were all the same: arrogant young punks who thought they were the cleverest things to ever walk God's green earth. They had no style, no view of the larger picture. They focused narrowly on one goal, too conceited to see the forest for the trees.

"Stay close to me," he whispered lowly to Nigel. "Do what I tell you, when I tell you, and if I start something, you play along... understand?"

Nigel nodded almost imperceptibly. "Yes." 

The mercenary nodded once, satisfied. He tilted his head back slightly to look past Nigel and stare Sydney in the eye. "And you relic hunter?"

"Just tell us the plan." Sydney muttered in a low growl, letting the world know what she thought about working with The Viper. She'd follow his lead and defer to his judgment for the moment, but it was a blatantly temporary truce. As the song went, *`There'll be time enough for counting when the  
deal is done.'* This wasn't the time to count... not the time to remember who and what The Viper was. There'd be plenty of time for that later, when the deal was done and they were safely away from the table.

Easily sensing her animosity, The Viper grunted, not really caring how much she hated him. He didn't do what he did in life to make friends. "Not now... Timing is everything. Just pay attention and be ready to move."

"Swell," she grumbled sarcastically. If The Viper were any more cryptic he could get a job staring into a crystal ball at the state fair.

For his part, the mercenary ignored Sydney and stared at Campbell again, letting his mind click through years of experience in the search for a solution.

Assessment: Their young captor would be a tricky problem, he was cocky and hotheaded and would gladly shoot first and ask questions later. A proverbial loose cannon. At the moment he was still walking ahead of them, his little girlfriend bringing up the rear, herding them across the tarmac like errant sheep. She was armed with a compact .32 caliber pistol, but held it awkwardly, likely unfamiliar with it and probably lacking the arm strength to even pull back the slide and load the chamber. Even if there was already a bullet in the chamber, the woman's body language gave her away: she'd hesitate before shooting, probably look to her boy toy for some sort of "should I do it?" confirmation. 

A wicked smile flashed across the mercenary's face. 

They were approaching the edge of the hard packed airstrip. Being the pilot, Davis Campbell had carefully circumvented the city's main airport, apparently not wanting a run-in with customs while holding (or at the time of landing, _hoped_ to be holding) his hostages at gunpoint. One could only guess how many loads of illegal drugs, weapons, and contraband had entered the country via the weather worn landing field.

The smell of sea salt wafted along the evening breeze, signaling they were within a few miles of the coast. Darkness curtained the area, the only light coming from the moon and a few strategically placed, yet decidedly dim floodlights. Swarms of moths and mosquitoes fluttered against the lamps, entranced by the light no matter how dim it was to human eyes. 

Never a better time to escape. 

"Alright Fox," The Viper muttered. "Get ready." He saw the woman nod and caught an almost predatory gleam in her eye, but he knew for once it wasn't directed at him. It was the glittering herald to an adrenaline rush, a precursor spurred on by the thought of action. He just hoped she made good use of it.

Raising his voice, the mercenary made his move. "You, Campbell!" he shouted, simultaneously slowing his pace and holding out his hand to slow Nigel alongside him. "We need to talk, boy!" 

Campbell swirled around, gun at the ready and eyes narrowed in a mixture of anger, annoyance, and suspicion. "Talk?" he echoed, tasting the word and weighing it as though being faced with an experimental snack food. "Unless you want to tell me where Ichriem is, I have nothing to say. And _you_ have nothing I want to hear."

"Oh, I think I do." The older man continued. "You said you wanted the name of my buyer... What's in it for me?"

"Your worthless life," Campbell sneered. "Because if you don't set me up with him, I'll..."

"You'll what?" The Viper interrupted, looking bored with the conversation. "Shoot me? How original. Shoot me and I'll be dead, you still won't find my buyer... and he'll be very disappointed not to get his relic."

Campbell shrugged, but tried to appear nonchalant. "If you don't tell me I can always find another buyer... using yours just would have been easiest since it's already set up. There's plenty of people out there who'd pay millions for a find like this."

The Viper laughed sardonically. "I'm afraid you don't understand. I said my buyer will be _very_ disappointed, and people who cause his disappointment have the nasty habit of dying. If he hears Ichriem is on the market and not being offered directly to him --and he _will_ hear about it-- he'll hire someone better than me to find you, kill you, and take Ichriem home as a free prize."

This was something that obviously hadn't occurred to Davis Campbell: the idea his plan might have a flaw. He adjusted his grip on the gun in a gesture of uncertainty, but his aim scarcely wavered. "Nice try," he smirked.

"Oh, it wasn't a try," The Viper corrected, lowering his voice to a menacing decibel he'd perfected over the years. "It was a fact." 

"You're bluffing," Campbell challenged, but uncertainty wavered in his voice as the seeds of doubt took root. "You're The Viper... You wouldn't work for anyone who'd kill you." 

The mercenary shrugged indifferently. "True, but then again... I didn't say they'd kill _me_ did I?" And at that, he could see he'd pecked a crack in Campbell's shell and something was about to hatch. He wasn't disappointed.

Amarja stepped forward, looking back and forth between the two men. "He's lying isn't he Davis?" She glared at The Viper disdainfully, either unaware of or uninterested in his reputation. "It's a trick. We can sell Ichriem to anyone, we don't need him." 

"Quiet!" Davis snapped, clearly annoyed and beginning to lose his focus. "I'm thinking."

"Good," The Viper praised, "because I have something else for you to think about." And before anyone could say `what?', his hand struck out, grabbing Amarja's wrist and twisting her arm behind her back. She screamed in a mingling of fear and surprise, but was helpless against his grip. In one smooth motion he took the gun from her hand and pinned her in front of him as a human shield. He leveled the pistol at Davis Campbell. "Time to think about _this_."

Blinking from the speed of The Viper's move, and realizing how quickly his plan disintegrated right before his eyes, Campbell immediately tightened his aim on the mercenary.

"Davis!" Amarja screeched, going wide-eyed as she saw the weapon pointed her way. "What are you doing?!?"

"Let her go," Davis threatened. "Don't be stupid."

"I don't have to worry about being stupid." The Viper answered. "Because I wasn't the one who threatened to kill me."

Off to the side, Sydney remained poised for action, keeping her eyes locked on the interaction between Campbell and The Viper. "You'd better drop the gun Davis," she advised in her calmest voice. "You don't want to make him mad. Just put it down and we can all walk away, no one needs to get hurt."

But the advice fell on deaf ears. "Shut up Fox!" Campbell barked. "What do you want Viper? A piece of the deal? Fine. I'll cut you in, we're both after the same thing. Let her go and we'll forget this ever happened."

"Very generous of you to offer me a piece of my own deal," the mercenary scoffed. "But now I'm going to tell you what's going to happen. You're going to give me the gun and let us all go or I'm going to shoot you right between the eyes."

Davis swallowed hard, looking more and more like a caged animal desperately searching for a way out. He moved his gun slightly to right, sighting it in on Nigel. "I'll shoot him! And I'll shoot Fox, and you'll never find Ichriem!" 

Nigel sucked in a deep breath as the gun turned on him, and beside him he sensed Sydney do the same. But The Viper was on top of it, taking a quick step to the side and placing himself in front of the young Englishman. His aim never faltered. "And you'll never see another sunrise," he countered. "You have until the count of five. One…"

"You won't." Campbell protested in disbelief. "We want the same thing!"

"… Two…" 

"Just give it to him Davis!" Amarja yelled, her voice quivering with fear.

"…Three…"

"We can be partners!" Campbell tried desperately, not wanting to surrender after all the scheming he'd done to get where they now were. "An even share, you can have half, Ama and I will split the other half."

"…Four…" 

The gun began to tremble in Campbell's hand and he shook his head slightly. "You're making a mistake Viper!"

"…Five." The mercenary grinned.

And seconds later a shot echoed through the desert wilderness.

End Part Forty

Note: In case you didn't catch the song lyric, it's from "The  
Gambler" by Kenny Rogers. I'm not sure why I wrote that in... but it  
seemed apt... plus it's been stuck in my head for days so I thought  
I'd pass it on :-)  



	41. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 41/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

**Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.**

**Posted: Wednesday, September 10, 2003**

__

Time froze. Sydney struggled to draw a breath. No one and nothing moved, not so much as the breeze. 

Then, slowly, the Viper teetered. A trickle of blood escaped the corner of his mouth, his eyes rolled back, and he fell, his knees folding like the bellows of an accordian. 

In front of him, Amarja's face went slack and she, too, crumpled. Within moments, a crimson pool was already forming around her lifeless body. The nine-millimeter slug cut through her like she was so much butter, piercing her throat and tearing half of it away before moving to its next victim. 

Campbell smirked. "You're not as smart as you think, old man. You've lost your touch. You're an anachronism, a has-been." He fondled his gun like a lover, heedless that his late paramour lay dead, only a short distance from his feet. Sydney saw the madness now, watching as it rose in him like a desert storm, clouding his eyes and turning his face into a hideous contortion of humanity. 

The Viper smiled, laughing, coughing weakly. "You're a bloody fool, man. A dead fool. I'd like to see what's left of your carcass after the Gural Nataz finishes with you, but it seems that is not to be. You see, I have an appointment...in... hell..." 

A chill settled over Sydney despite the heat and humidity. The Viper stared into space, his vacant gaze a testament to the vessel emptied of its soul. "I guess maybe you really do reap what you sow," she commented softly. 

"Very touching," Campbell sneered. "Now let's move it. The boat is waiting." 

"You're just going to leave him there?" Sydney challenged. "Even here, don't you think that a corpse in the middle of a runway will raise questions?" 

"Does it look like I give a damn about any questions? Now move it!" He jerked his head to one side, indicating for her to walk. 

With Campbell's gun leveled at Nigel, Sydney had little choice but to comply. They were herded toward a military truck and into the back. When Claudia balked at climbing in, Campbell backhanded her. Sydney poised for a strike, but the gun was positioned such that it was simply too dangerous. She'd have to bide her time, as much as it galled her to do so. 

To her credit, Claudia didn't scream. The little secretary lifted a defiant chin to her assailant, fury blazed across her features. She sniffed in disdain when he offered her a hand up, instead pulling herself up and swinging a slender leg over the tailgate. Claudia scrunched into a corner, glowering. If looks could kill, Campbell would have been roasted over an open flame. 

But when Nigel tried to climb in, Campbell grabbed his arm, twisting it behind his back. "No way, kid. You are my insurance that nobody plays any games. You ride in front with me. Anyone so much as peeps from the back, I shoot first and ask questions later." 

Sydney's heart plummeted. Any bravado she had was wiped out in one brutal stroke. After all they'd gone through, there was no question that Campbell would make good on his threat, and there was no way in hell Sydney would risk Nigel again. 

E nd Part Forty-One


	42. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 42/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Monday, September 22, 2003

The ride to Sid Ifni was bumpy and dusty. Every dip and rut in the seldom-used road sent a jolt through the bed of the antiquated military truck and straight into the bones of its passengers.

Sydney winced, moving a hand protectively over the tender stab wound in her back as it throbbed in time to the pulse of the washboard road. Dim moonlight seeped into the otherwise shrouded truck bed thanks to a missing panel in the canvas roof, letting her somewhat see the bedraggled forms of her three companions. And she had to admit, their appearances didn't do much for her confidence.

Beside her, Derek wasn't in much better shape than herself, grimacing at the bumps, but doing his best to keep up his tough guy persona and conceal the fact. Directly across from them, Preston and Claudia sat side by side. Claudia had cuddled up next to the Englishman, wrapping both her arms around one of his and burying her face into his shoulder. And as for Preston… He seemed oblivious to the secretary clinging to his arm. His expression was nearly blank, his eyes locked without focus toward the front of the truck. It wasn't hard to guess what, or rather, who, was foremost in his mind.

Sydney felt a pang of compassion, knowing that as close as she was to Nigel, Preston was still his brother… a brother with a guilty conscience, and that was something she could identify with. Logic dictated the situation had been out of her control from the start, but she still wasn't able to quit blaming herself. She could still see Nigel innocently sitting at his desk, happy and healthy before she'd sprung the idea of the Egyptology conference on him.

A sudden jolt rippled through the truck, and the rhythm of the road changed, becoming quieter and much smoother. They must have at last hit pavement, leaving behind the ruts and grit of the sandy dirt road and bringing them ever closer to Sid Ifni. As though the pavement hardened her resolve, Sydney packed her guilt into a neat mental box and slammed the lid. The blame game wasn't something she had time to play, she had to focus on the here and now.

Overall, she had to say their situation had gotten worse. Davis Campbell would be a problem, he was homicidal and irrational and, more than likely, not entirely sane. At least with The Viper, she'd had a vague idea where she stood, but with Campbell… she might as well be tap-dancing across a minefield. And there was something else about him that bothered her… the photograph Amarja had shown them.

While unconscious on Dr. Rashid's couch when the woman poured out her story, Sydney had heard about the picture from Claudia and asked to see it during the trip from Cairo to Algeria. She'd easily recognized Dr. Reynold, but Campbell, or at least, the young man Amarja _claimed_ was Campbell looked nothing like the one currently holding them captive. It wasn't only that their coloring was completely different and their ages seemed at least five years apart… things that might be explained with make-up… but their heights were wrong, something decidedly harder to disguise.

Artie Reynold had been about 6'1" and in the picture, standing by the professor's side, Campbell appeared nearly two inches shorter, making him roughly 5'11". But this Campbell --the one carting them off into the darkness-- was easily over six feet tall, probably taller than Reynold's 6'1".

So what did it mean? He definitely hadn't been working with The Viper, of that Sydney was entirely certain. But if he was the real Campbell, who had been the young man in the picture? And why had Amarja lied about his identity?

Any further speculation was cut off as Derek cleared his throat and pushed himself up a little straighter. He knew Campbell had told them `not to make a peep', but it was doubtful he could hear them talking from the enclosed cab… not to mention that road noise and the racket of the grinding truck gears made eavesdropping a lost cause. 

"All right…" he started. "So what's our next move?" Hints of fatigue rang in his voice, and while he probably wished their next move was to a luxurious hotel with a soft bed and no wake-up calls, he'd never let anyone doubt he was ready for action. "We can't be far from Sid Ifni now… What does anybody know about this place?"

Sydney was about to answer, and was surprised when Preston'svoice came across the truck and did it for her. "It's a relatively small town," he supplied in a tired note, having at last snapped out of his self-imposed funk. "I'd say roughly fifteen thousand people live there. It's literally right on the coast, although it isn't a major port. I'd imagine there's a few fishermen in town, although quite a few people in the area are nomadic herders." He paused for a moment and shrugged in the darkness. "Aside from a few historical bits, there isn't much more to tell."

Derek made a grunting noise implying he was considering the information. "What about the local government? The police?"

"I don't know." Sydney exhaled. Local politics and practices were always hard to feel out, especially without any actual interaction. "Probably about the same as anywhere else in Morocco," she finally answered. "Which beats anything we'd have found in Algeria." She paused again and ran her fingers through her hair in frustration. "Not that it really matters… we can't go to the authorities anyway unless we do something about Campbell."

"Easier said than done right now." Derek pointed out rather needlessly.

"He's completely mad." Preston reminded them. "You saw what he did to the girl… He killed her rather than surrender."

Derek shifted position and winced at the stiffness in his chest. "Probably because The Viper would've killed him either way."

Preston furrowed his brow. "No," he objected after a moment of thought. "I don't think he would have been killed if he had given up."

"Yeah right," the agent retorted in a scoff. "What makes you think that?"

Preston tried not to narrow his eyes at Lloyd's tone. "Something he told me on the plane," he answered flatly, remembering The Viper's words about pointless killings. "I'd rather not go into it now, but it was something I believed." And there was also another reason. "And I don't know if anyone noticed or not, but back there when Campbell threatened to shoot Nigel, The Viper actually protected him."

Sydney felt her face slacken as she mentally replayed the scene from the airstrip and realized Preston was right. The Viper _had_ moved in front of Nigel, shielding him from anything Campbell might have done. There were of course, a million reasons why he might have done it… it could have been part of his strategy to keep Campbell distracted, or maybe he'd wanted Nigel alive to help him find Ichriem. Still… no matter the reason, it had happened. "You're right Preston, but we don't know why he did that, and we don't know what he would have done with Campbell… But I think we can pretty well guess what Campbell might do to us."

"So what are we going to do about it?" Claudia joined in at last, raising her face from Preston's shoulder. There was no trace of surrender in her voice. She may have indulged in a moment of self-pity, but she'd cried silent tears she'd never claim against Preston's robe. "Can we overpower this guy?" she suggested hopefully. "I mean, there's five of us counting Nigel, and aside from the guy driving the truck, Campbell's alone."

"It's no problem if we can get the gun away from him." Derek assured her. "No problem at all," he muttered to himself, clearly looking forward to the moment. 

~*~

Meanwhile, oblivious to the conversation going on behind him, Nigel sat in the cab of the old military truck, sifting through his options and studiously trying to ignore Davis Campbell. 

At the moment, he was neatly tucked between his captor (who occasionally waved a pistol in his general direction) and a semi- large Moroccan man who kept a very large cigar clamped between his teeth. The Moroccan remained quiet, keeping one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift, he grinned every time the truck hit a particularly bad bump, but never lost his grip on his tobacco. Obviously a man of talent. 

Ahead of him, through the dusty and bug splattered windshield, Nigel could already see the glowing lights of Sid Ifni. In a few short minutes, they'd be in the city and then on a boat bound for Mer de Tueur… and somehow the killer sea never sounded more ominous. 

*Okay Nigel, think.* He shifted his glance to Campbell, and was irritated at the self-satisfied expression on the other man's face. *He thinks he's already beaten us,* Nigel thought darkly, suddenly overwhelmed with a sense of infuriation. 

Since the whole bloody ordeal had started he'd been threatened with death more times than he'd care to count. He'd been kidnapped, drugged, hauled across the world, drugged some more and then hauled across a desert. He'd been rescued only to see his brother shot before his eyes… only to eventually be recaptured by The Viper all over again less than 24 hours later. Which was of course, not to forget everything Sydney and even Derek Lloyd had been through. 

Nigel was sick of it. His friends and family were suffering because they'd been trying to save him… Well, now it was time for him to return the favor. 

Campbell was distracted at the moment, lazily holding the gun in his right hand and balancing the barrel on his left forearm. He obviously expected his prisoner to do nothing except sit still and be a good little terrified captive. 

And he could just go on thinking that, because his good little captive had a different idea. 

"Ooooh." Nigel moaned, suddenly wrapping his arms around his stomach and leaning forward slightly. 

Campbell didn't express much concern. "What's wrong?" he asked snidely. "Not enjoying the ride?" 

"Ooh," the young Briton moaned again. "I think I'm going to be ill," he muttered, doing his best to sound miserable. "Can't he drive any slower?" He kept himself bent over, turning to glance up at his captor. 

"Of course he can," Campbell smirked. "But if I've learned anything from digging up worthless crap in the sand, it's that history waits for no one." He gave Nigel a critical glance. "Don't think about throwing up," he warned, perhaps realizing he had no control over certain things. "Once we stop, you can puke all you want, but don't do it in here." 

"Oooh," Nigel lamented, shifting position slightly. He was doing an excellent job acting if he did say so himself. "I don't know if I'll be able to wait that long." And when he'd leaned about as close to Campbell as he thought he could get, he doubled over again, giving the impression that he truly couldn't wait. And just as he predicted, Campbell backpedaled, pushing himself back against the passenger door. 

Nigel pounced, shooting out his hand and gripping Campbell's wrist, twisting it to push the nose of the gun down and simultaneously throwing himself across the other man and pulling on the door release. The door flew open, creaking against its hinges and letting in a gush of dry wind, and with his weight already against it, Campbell promptly lost his balance, slipping from the seat and flailing for a new hold, dropping his gun in the process. 

"Help me you idiot!" Campbell screamed at the driver, desperately clinging to a seatbelt strap to keep from falling completely off the truck. His feet dangled inches from the road, and his attempts to gain footing back in the cab were met with vicious retaliation. 

The Moroccan slowed down to about 30 mph but didn't stop, in fact, he started to laugh, taking the opportunity to at last remove the cigar from his teeth. "I never like you." He said in a broken accent, then he grinned, displaying a less-than-perfect set of teeth. "And I no idiot. You idiot for paying only half my dirhams*." And with that, he dramatically stuck the cigar back in his mouth and turned his attention back to the road. 

Nigel nearly stuttered in disbelief, but with the driver out of the way as a threat, he snatched Campbell's gun and pointed it at his adversary. "Next time perhaps you'll pay the man what you should." And changing positions, he braced himself against the doorframe and kicked one last time. Campbell lost his grip on the strap, and like something from an old movie, fell from the truck with grasping hands and a strangled curse. 

Nigel surged forward in a scramble to peer around the doorframe and see his former captive roll to a stop in a shallow ditch on the roadside. Given the truck wasn't going very fast, he was certain Campbell was still alive... after all he himself had jumped from moving vehicles traveling much faster. At best, he'd bought them all some time. He knew Campbell was a man obsessed and wouldn't let a trifle like falling off a truck interfere with his ultimate goal. 

Leaning over, he grasped the handle and pulled the door shut, cutting off the rush of dry wind and creating an odd calm in the cab. He stuffed the pistol in his waistband and glanced over at the driver, who he discovered was glancing back at him. 

"I take you there no charge." The man chuckled as though he'd just witnessed the funniest thing he'd ever seen. And perhaps he had… he'd just seen David bring down Goliath. "That," he referred to the fight, "worth pay." 

Nigel leaned back in the seat, feeling his adrenaline rush slowly ebb and taper back to normal. "I'm glad you enjoyed it." He paused, feeling a little redemption and a touch of pride for the first time in over a week. "I know I did." 

End Part Forty 


	43. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 43/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, October 5, 2003

From her vantage in the back of the truck, Sydney watched Campbell's body roll across the desert floor. A chill ran through her spine as he rose, staggering, his shouted obscenities fading into the distance. She knew that this was by no means over, and it would not end until Ichriem was found and settled safely in a museum. 

She'd overheard every detail of the exchange in the cab. Nigel's bravado saved them, but it could just as easily have gotten him killed. That thought loomed in her consciousness, threatening to overwhelm her. She was frightened and horrified at Derek Lloyd's condition, and she'd have grieved him had he died. It occurred to her that had Nigel been killed, grieving would only be a part of it. In the back of her mind, she knew that if she lost her assistant, she would be hard-pressed to go on in any capacity. There was no doubt whatsoever that she would take a permanent retirement from relic hunting. If Nigel died, her joy would exit with him. 

"Good God, Abraham, what took you so long?" There was as much anger in Lloyd's voice as there was exasperation. 

_Abraham?_

Sydney knew even before the driver spoke. 

"Well, Lloyd, I couldn't exactly tip our hand this early. Besides, the boy does a pretty good hero act. You know, if we ever get things hammered out with the Brits, the kid might come in handy." Gone was the middle-eastern accent. Abraham's current drawl sounded more at home in New Orleans than in the Sahara Desert. "We got the Viper, didn't we? We'll get this Campbell kid, too." 

"Holy shit..." Sydney snapped her mouth closed until she brought her temper under control. She slumped against the metal frame, willing herself to breathe normally again. 

Nigel didn't pretend any such indifference. Much to her amazement, her colleague wrenched the wheel from their driver, slamming his foot on the brake. They skidded to an abrupt stop, and before anyone could react further, the little Englishman balled up his fist and slammed it against Abraham's jaw. "You're next, Lloyd!" Nigel spat through the open rear window. "I could understand you not coming to my rescue, but how dare you expose Sydney to this kind of danger! You ought to be horse whipped. I might even campaign for the reintroduction of capital punishment for your part in this!" As was often the case, Nigel's voice rose half an octave, a dead giveaway of the level of his fury. 

Sydney bit her lip, warmed by her companion's devotion, though it was misplaced. It wasn't like she was incapable of fending for herself! "Nigel, they really couldn't do anything else. He had a gun on you." 

"Don't defend him, Syd. Lloyd uses you like a tool, borrowing you to help tighten a screw on someone, or to lead him to something he needs. He doesn't care about you! All he wants is to get his man, and he doesn't care who gets hurt along the way! He doesn't love you, Sydney, not like - " 

There was a shout from the distance and suddenly Abraham pushed Nigel aside. The truck roared back to life, fishtailing in the dirt, throwing up a cloud of dust that didn't quite obscure the footbound army swarming around them. Within a fraction of a second, the garrison opened fire. Sydney heard the sickening ping of bullets striking the metal frame, and the whistles of still more that came much too close to her ears. 

"What the hell?" she shouted, struggling to remain upright as they flew over the rough road. "What was that about???" 

"That was about Ichriem, my dear," Abraham called over his shoulder. "The Viper and Campbell were only two people, but this is a much more concerted effort." 

The chill returned to Sydney. "The Gural Nataz..." 

"Yes," Lloyd responded. He'd been silent for most of the ride, and Sydney was again reminded of the extent of his injuries. "The Gural Nataz is much more extensive than you know, Sydney. They've become an international cartel that's expanded beyond the smuggling of priceless antiquities. They've become a modern-day mafia, a syndicate with their fingers in all sorts of criminal pies. They organize hits and money laundering, orchestrate terrorist acts for the profit they can make from them, manage a huge illicit drug network. There's more at stake here than Ichriem, and yet Ichriem is key for them. It's more than just an artifact, Sydney. We were hoping you could tell us why." 

The guerrillas fell into the distance, but the truck was not going to go much further. While they still moved, the engine was sputtering and they swerved wildly. For a heart-stopping moment the vehicle tilted onto two wheels, but Abraham managed to right it and they skidded into a hidden hollow. There beneath the rise, a cinderblock building rose from the sandy earth, its bland modern lines a jarring contrast to the otherwise unsullied wilderness. Well, nearly unsullied… A few yards beyond the building stood a camouflage-painted military helicopter, its huge blades whirring in silent readiness. 

"Your chariot, Sydney," Lloyd grunted. "A non-stop flight to Mer de Tueur. There's already a dig underway, but time's running out. If the Gural Nataz gets there first, we may not be able to stop them." 

With that bit of information under her belt, Sydney clambered out of the truck and yanked on Nigel's door. For a fraction of a second, she let herself wonder what Nigel meant to say before he was cut off. Speculation raised her pulse to a staccato beat, but got her nowhere. She reached up and pulled her partner from the truck, enveloping him in a hug. "You and I have to talk," she whispered into his ear. "But we have to find Ichriem first and figure out what's going on." 

Was it her imagination, or did Nigel look startled? 

"I – I think I know," he stammered. "And if I'm right, we'd better hurry. Ichriem is more than just a statue. I was studying what history says about it, and if I'm right, it's not solid gold. If I'm correct, its center is pure crystal, possibly flawless quartz." 

They moved in synchronous step, climbing into the fuselage of the aircraft. Any thoughts of their other companions effectively fell away as the implications of Nigel's words sunk in. "Crystal?" she breathed. "Why crystal? Why not solid gold?" 

"Crystal has its own properties. It's got the ability to regulate and magnify electrical current." Nigel's voice was somber. "What if that's not all it can magnify? The ancient texts suggest that when the correct two people touch this statue..." He raised his eyes to meet hers. "Sydney... aren't brain waves basically electrical?" 

"And if two people were to have brain waves sufficiently similar..." The implications hit her with the power of a sledgehammer. "Oh my God..." 

End Part Forty-Three


	44. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 44/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, November 9, 2003

"Shhh!" Nigel hissed at Sydney's exclamation, glancing around surreptitiously to see if they'd been overheard. "I don't think we should tip our hand on this just yet," he muttered. "So far it's only a theory, and..." he glanced around again, "...I don't think _some_ people need to know about it if you know what I mean."

Sydney nodded, realizing exactly what he meant and finding herself casting her own glance around the helicopter. No one seemed to be paying attention to them, being more concerned with preparing for take-off than eavesdropping. Lloyd had already slipped on a headset and seemed occupied with whatever conversation was coming over the radio. Across the way, Preston and Claudia were fumbling with their seatbelts, trying to buckle in before they became airborne. Sydney nonchalantly latched her own belt into place, noting Nigel start fishing around for his.

Over the noise of the helicopter engine and rhythmic whirling of the propeller, she could still make out the cracks and pings of gunfire echoing across the desert. *The Gural Nataz* ... somehow it just figured they'd be involved. They'd become the proverbial bad penny in her life, always turning up just when it seemed things couldn't get much worse. 

And speaking of things turning up... How had Lloyd's truck-driving friend known where they were going to be? And how could he have set himself up as Campbell's driver before anyone even knew Campbell was involved? If they'd been tracking the plane via satellite, they might have been able to discern the landing site ahead of time, which would answer the first question... but as for the second... she could only hope it had been a last minute interception of the real driver, the alternative was disturbing. 

As Shakespeare would have said, something was rotten in the state of Denmark.

Derek had obviously been sending information to his superiors, she expected nothing less. It was partly why she'd agreed to team up with him... the man had powerful connections. He must have told his superiors about Mer de Tueur before they'd left Egypt, causing them to dispatch a team to either lie in wait for the Viper or find Ichriem first.

She thought back to what seemed like months ago when Lloyd strolled into her hospital room. He'd wanted The Viper, that had been his initial assignment, she was certain. He hadn't known a thing about Ichriem, what it was, or even how much it was worth. But somewhere along the way he'd learned more about it, probably in intelligence messages from his associates who were monitoring the Gurel Nataz. 

The underground cartel evidently wanted Ichriem more than she realized. They'd offered The Viper half-a-billion dollars to recover it, and after seeing the man gunned down before her eyes, she knew the news of his demise would travel quickly to his employers. 

The whirling of the helicopter blades reached a fevered pitch and a surge of wind churned through the open fuselage, whipping through Sydney's hair and sending it into a fluttering tangle. With a lurch, the aircraft finally lifted off, gaining altitude until the sounds of gunfire faded into pleasant nothingness. Beside her, she could almost feel Nigel sigh in relief.

*Gunfire.* Sydney furrowed her brow as the thought sank in. Odd. Why had agents of the Gurel Nataz been hiding in wait along the road? For all they knew, The Viper could have been on board that truck and they'd have been shooting at their own soldier of fortune... The thought trailed off as suddenly she realized that had likely been their plan all along.

They'd been using The Viper. 

There were times when the true irony of a situation just sat up and begged to be recognized, and this certainly qualified. After all the relics the old mercenary undoubtedly usurped over the years, he'd fallen victim to the same ploy. He'd been used as an unknowing pawn, doing all the dirty work, tracking down the artifact, and once they thought he'd gotten close enough the Gurel Nataz would smoothly take him out of the picture.

And Campbell was one of them.

He may have had some background in archeology, but he'd never been Artie's "trusted" dig assistant, it was all part of the story he and Amarja had told. Which Sydney suspected was the truth, only it hadn't happened to him, it'd happened to Reynold's real assistant. She remembered the photograph again with the blond-haired young man Amarja claimed was Campbell, and she knew whatever his name was, he'd likely been the genuine article. She wondered what had happened to him. And she couldn't help but wonder, not for the first time, what happened to Reynold.

Campbell had put on a good show in front of Amarja back at the airstrip, demanding the name of the buyer for her benefit, all part of the lie he'd told to make her betray Dr. Reynold. But when he'd shot his alleged lover through the throat, there'd hardly been a twitch in his façade. He'd probably planned on killing her all along… The same way he'd planned to kill The Viper, which was no doubt what he'd been sent to do.

The Gurel Nataz goon squad lurking along the road must have been Campbell's support team. When Campbell fell off the truck, a scout must have seen him, and recognizing him ranting and raving by the roadside, realized something had gone wrong. Thus had come the order to open fire.

Sydney leaned back against the lightly padded seat, turning her head to look behind her into the cockpit. Derek was sitting in the co-pilot's chair, headset on and eyes flicking over what appeared to be a flight chart. His posture was slightly slumped and his lips were pressed into a thin line of concentration. Overall, he looked completely exhausted. As she studied him, she felt, as she often did around him, that she'd encountered an enigma. There were moments when she couldn't decide if she wanted to slap him in the face or give him a kiss that he wouldn't soon forget.

Conversation was next to impossible without screaming, so she unlatched her seatbelt and twisted around in the seat. "Derek!" she hollered. He turned his head and gave her a tired smile, pulling the headset off for a moment.

"What?" he spoke in a raised voice to be heard. 

"How long until we reach the island?"

"Not long," he shook his head, using his left hand to point at the chart in his lap. "It's less than 20 miles out."

She nodded. At that distance traveling by air, the trip would take fifteen to twenty minutes. "Got anything to eat when we get there?" She wasn't sure about anyone else, but she was famished, scarcely able to remember the last time she'd eaten. 

"Probably," he confirmed. He suddenly looked inspired. "In the meantime," he rooted around a moment and pulled a box of breakfast cereal bars from beneath the seat. "Abraham loves these things, takes `em everywhere." He extracted one for himself and gave her the carton. "Pass them out back there." He paused momentarily. "And I don't think I need to tell you, but it's pretty late and it's been a bitch of a night. I think once we get there we should probably take a couple of hours to rest."

"You read my mind," she answered, giving him a smile and turning back around. It was the one of the best ideas she'd heard all day. Rest. The concept almost seemed as foreign as the land they now flew over. She hadn't had a restful night since Nigel was kidnapped, aside from her drug induced sleep in Cairo. She glanced at her assistant, noting how exhausted he appeared, and she felt a surge of compassion, knowing how much he'd been through and wondering how much more they still faced. It seemed hard to believe she'd only been reunited with him earlier that day. "Snack?" she offered the box of cereal bars to Nigel.

The young man stared at the box for a moment in surprise, then eagerly picked out a bar. "Wonderful!" he praised, already ripping off the wrapper as Sydney offered some to Preston and Claudia, who both accepted them with zeal. She took one for herself and leaned back against the seat once again.

They were over water now, and the salty aroma of ocean air filled the helicopter. Looking out, the moon reflected palely off the waves of the dark Atlantic, as though any attempt to truly light it was an effort in futility. 

Sitting there watching the moonlight skip across the waves, listening to the whirling hum of the helicopter blades, and inhaling the rich scent of the ocean, Sydney could almost forget where she was. It was as if she could just close her eyes and she'd be somewhere else... another world far away where there was no such thing as the Gurel Nataz and Ichreim was only a pretty picture in a child's book of myths.

And looking away from the moonlit water, she rested her head against the back of the seat and closed her eyes. 

End Part Forty-Four


	45. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 45/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, December 7, 2003

Keeping his eyelids at half-mast, Derek Lloyd read every syllable that Sydney and Nigel exchanged. The headset was set to a local radio station, where a bad deejay played even worse music. It was all religious gibberish in a native dialect that gave Lloyd a headache. If he concentrated, he could understand, but he could care less about the broadcast. He wanted to know more about the relic hunters. 

And he didn't like what he saw. 

Aside from clandestine references to their companions, Sydney and Nigel leaned into each other's space, their mutual body language screaming intimacy. If they weren't lovers yet, it was almost certainly their destiny. The thought threw a dark pall over Lloyd's already-dark mood. 

If Sydney believed that the worst of it was over, she was truly naïve. There would be a Gural Nataz army waiting on Mer de Tueur, a guerrilla force armed to the teeth and prepped to blow them out of the air. Just landing the chopper would be risky. Stepping out would be suicide. Once more, Lloyd choked back the desire to order them back to the U.S., to shackle Sydney to her office, if need be. She shouldn't be out of the hospital, much less out up to her eyeballs in terrorism and intrigue. 

The Bailey boy was a thorn in Lloyd's side. It would be so easy to hate the kid, if only he had some truly bad qualities besides being annoying. If the boy were crude or obnoxious, overbearing, disrespectful, or just plain stupid, Lloyd could hate Nigel without compunction. 

But the fact of the matter was that Nigel Bailey was a brilliant scholar, and was becoming increasingly adept at finding his way out of the sticky situations. The boy was sharp as a tack and gaining in strength and agility every day. The kid had spunk, and Lloyd had to admire that. 

Watching the expressions flit over the younger man's face, Lloyd had to concede to another truth where Nigel Bailey was concerned. Bailey was in love with Sydney, too. 

A surge of jealousy rose in him, and Lloyd clenched both hands into fists. 

It was a short-lived ire. Bailey was in the same boat as every other man who fell for Sydney Fox. The kid was out of luck, because the lady was keeping just enough distance. If and when they finally came together, Nigel would love Sydney, and she would use the boy and discard him, just like she had all her previous teaching assistants. 

Just like she would do with Lloyd when the time came, as much as he wanted to believe otherwise. It made things less messy. It was what he was supposed to do. No long-term attachments, no family, no openings for the enemy to use against him. 

And he hated it. 

For the first time in his life, Derek Lloyd pictured himself settling down in one place, without guns, without the razor's edge that thrilled him, without the constant challenges to keep him in peak form. Suddenly, he was very, very tired. 

He sensed, rather than heard, as they began to descend. Looking through the side windows, he watched sand and surf rise to meet them. The low thrum of the motor grumbled through his body, wakening a deep ache. 

Training could only carry him so far. Even the best agent had his limitations. All the spy movies aside, no one could withstand torture without breaking. He hadn't broken, hadn't revealed any secrets, but he was failing. He knew he was functioning on borrowed time. His abdominal wall was rigid and he suspected he was bleeding internally. He needed to go to a hospital, if it wasn't already too late. _Ha… Here I am planning for a future that I won't live to see…_

"Here," he sighed, opening a compartment beneath the seat. "I know you don't like guns, but it's not optional here. This island doesn't have a native population. If it moves, it's an enemy and you shoot it. Got it?" He reached for a pistol, thumbing the safety and stuffing a fistful of ammo into his pocket. 

At the distaste on Sydney's face, he picked up another handgun and slapped it against her palm. "Take it. Don't argue, Syd. Martial arts won't help you if you're facing ten men with an arsenal." He picked up a semi-automatic and hefted it, eyeing Nigel. He wasn't sure the kid could or would take it. 

Nigel surprised him by reaching for the weapon and nodding. "I need to know how to use it." 

Chuckling in spite of himself, Lloyd pointed at the trigger. "Pull that and make sure you're aiming it at a bad guy. Think you can handle that?" 

"Bet on it." 

"What about me?" Preston interrupted, all enthusiasm. 

Lloyd weighed the pros and cons of handing a gun to another unqualified shooter. Nigel was one thing. His brother was another ball of wax. "I need someone with both hands free," Lloyd said at length. He was trying to think up something to tell the little blond girl, but she reached for a compact semi-automatic and flipped it over. This kid was no novice! 

Claudia glanced up at him and shrugged. "My dad is a charter member of the NRA. I learned to shoot when I was five." 

He didn't need any more convincing. 

The chopper set down with a bump, and Lloyd heaved himself up, pushing the door open. "Heeere's Johnny!" he quipped grimly. "Listen, ballerinas, everybody on your toes. You can bet we've got company waiting for us."

End Part Forty-Five


	46. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 46/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, January 11, 2004

Sydney tightened her hold on her newly acquired .45 Glock, her fingers wrapped around the molded grip in tense readiness. The rocky grit that passed as the island of Mer de Tueur crunched and shifted loosely beneath her feet as she emerged from the safety of the helicopter.

From what she could see, courtesy of Mother Nature and the nearly-full moon, there was nothing overly impressive about their newest locale. It was a jagged, deserted island.

The small patch of sand where the helicopter landed wasn't the sort of pristine substance found on popular beaches, it was rough and coarse, most of it left behind by swollen tides that had encroached year after year over the rocky shore. Hard volcanic stone was apparent beneath the feeble inch of sandy cover, becoming more prevalent after only a few steps inland. Even in the dim light, the craggy outcrops that jutted periodically from the earth were clearly visible, looming rather ominously in the distant darkness. 

At her side, Nigel's mind clicked through a similar train of thought, secretly wishing it were daylight so he could have a better look. This was it after all, Mer de Teuer... The Killer Sea... the reputed home of the long lost statue of Ichriem and the main cause behind his recent suffering. He felt the odd desire to know this place, to see it in whatever splendor it possessed, to see it the way the ancient Phoenicians had seen it the day they'd hidden Ichriem away on its shores.

Of course, if he could magically harness the power to travel through time and see the Phoenicians, he'd take the opportunity to kindly point out theft was a crime. If they'd quietly broken away from Egypt with a friendly handshake and a "nice knowing you" it certainly would have saved him a lot of grief.

But nooo, ancient cultures never parted on good terms... that would be too easy. Instead they became enemies, they fought, held grudges, and of course, stole... and stole frequently. Theft had apparently been something of a sport, all part of an elaborate game of keep-away. He could scarcely count the number of relics he and Syd recovered that had been `lost' simply because they'd been pilfered. He wouldn't be surprised if the Phoenicians sent a messenger back to Egypt with a childish taunt: "We've got something you don't have! Nyeh!"

He couldn't help but wonder just what the Egyptians _had_ done when they discovered their idol was missing. How long had it taken them to learn who was responsible? Had they ever tried to recover it?

Any further speculation was broken as he stumbled slightly on a rock, snapping his thoughts back to the present. Derek had taken the lead, skulking across the rocky landscape with his pistol at the ready and even more firepower hidden away in various pockets... not to mention the M-16 dangling by its strap across his back. The agent periodically paused and held up his hand, motioning everyone to stop while he had a better look around.

Nigel could tell the man was in concealed pain, and it was something he could sympathize with, knowing it had come from the hands of The Viper. He'd come to realize that while it hadn't seemed so at the time, The Viper had apparently been inordinately kind to him.

"Nigel." Came a quiet whisper at his side, and he turned his head slightly as his brother attracted his attention and moved a little closer. The older Bailey kept his voice low as not to attract any more attention. "Does anyone know where we're going?"

*Hmm…* Nigel furrowed his brow. A good question. He found himself glancing around the area with new scrutiny, as though he might suddenly spot a neon signpost. Just where _were_ they going anyway? He certainly didn't know. Did Sydney? For that matter, did Derek? "I don't know," he whispered back. "But I assume so." 

"That's not very comforting." Preston responded, trying to keep the nervousness from his voice. He couldn't let anyone... most especially Nigel, think he was anything but prepared for what they were doing. From the start, the whole situation had been beyond precedent for him. One moment he'd arrived home from work as he did everyday, with nothing more troublesome in his life than the fact he had an obnoxiously fluffy radio jingle stuck in his head from his drive home. He'd even been humming the hated ditty as he answered the door and greeted the deliveryman who bestowed him with a plain brown package and unknowingly became a harbinger of sorrow. 

"Don't worry," Nigel whispered, although having answers certainly would be a novel idea. Sydney was a few steps ahead of him and quickened his pace to catch up to her, Preston at his heels. "Syd," he questioned lowly. "What's going on? Where are we going?" 

Sydney glanced forward at Lloyd, her eyes already adjusted to the darkness, and noted him carefully peer around an outcropping, then shook her head slightly. "From what I've picked up," she muttered, "Derek already has some friends around here somewhere to back us up… all he has to do is find them. Remember what he said earlier about there already being a dig underway." 

"Does he think they're close?" Preston asked. 

"Well, they can't be too far, this isn't a very big island." Nigel quipped.

Sydney nearly smiled. The remark was so typically something her assistant might say, it seemed like a momentary flash of normalcy in the midst of unreality. "No, but we landed on the opposite side of it to try throwing off Gurel Nataz."

"Ah." Nigel nodded in understanding, seeing his brother nod as well. "So we're playing a bit of hide and seek... and I take it no one knows exactly where the Gurel Nataz are hiding."

"Bingo." Syndey made an unconscious sweep of the area. "If they're here, they could be anywhere. Keep your eyes open." She glanced at the semi-automatic in Nigel's hands, knowing her assistant would use it if push came to shove. The young man had wielded weapons before, but she couldn't ever remember him having to fire a shot. She could only hope the situation wouldn't become that desperate, but somehow doubted it. The Gurel Nataz wanted this one too badly. "Try to stay close to the rocks and pay attention to Derek. And don't forget," she could scarcely believe what she was about to say, "if they shoot at you... shoot back."

In the moonlight, Nigel met her serious glance and nodded again, nervously readjusting his hold on his weapon. Ahead of them, Derek finished his survey of whatever was around the corner and starting creeping forward again, giving the `let's move' signal for everyone to follow.

"I still don't see why he wouldn't give me a weapon," Preston whispered in a quick, low tone at his brother's side. "What the deuce am I going to need my hands free for?"

Nigel knew the likely reason… Derek likely wanted someone who could reload weapons while everyone else was firing if gunplay broke out, but he suddenly felt a devilish smile inch across his face. "Well someone's going to have carry Ichriem out of here."

He was met with a light swat on his shoulder and felt his smile turn into an all out grin.

A feeling of new determination surged through him on the waves of adrenaline that had been his best friends for the course of the evening. He realized how lucky he was: he had friends who had risked their lives for him and a brother who'd not only done the same, but had also been willing to give up millions in ransom. He suddenly no longer felt the same nervousness he'd had only moments before.

He'd nearly lost everything... nearly been killed several times because of Ichriem... because of greed... because of the Gurel Nataz. There was a line being slowly drawn in the sand. This was no ordinary relic hunt, it never had been. The rules had changed without permission and the line in the sand became longer and longer. If at some point that line became too long and had to be crossed, he knew he could face it if it meant saving the people who had risked everything to save him.

End Part Forty-Six


	47. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 47/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, January 18, 2004

They pulled themselves over the crest of a steep, boulder-strewn hill, all of them breathing heavily from negotiating the unforgiving terrain. Sydney's hands were raw from where she'd clutched at rough outcroppings for support. It had taken them more than three hours to go less than two kilometers inland. She held a damaged hand to her wounded back. For the first time in her relic-hunting career, she wondered if she could go on. She was growing light-headed and nauseated from the unrelenting ache, and she was reminded forcefully that even she had limitations.

A glance at Lloyd suggested he was no better off. His swarthy features were hollow, his face a sickening shade of gray, his skin glistening with a sheen of sweat. Normally a powerhouse of energy, he now moved like a man in slow motion, limbs stiff and knees quivering with each step.

She understood in a flash of clarity.

Lloyd was dying. Not just injured. Dying.

Tears obscured her vision, an overwhelming sense of loss that nearly cost her her footing. Dammit, no relic was worth this much!

Glancing at Nigel, she was relieved to see the determined set of his jaw. Imagine… Nigel had proven to be so strong, capable… And vulnerable, she reminded herself. She'd nearly lost him, too. She sent up a silent prayer of thanks that some unknown facet of the Viper's personality had spared her colleague and best friend and…

A shout interrupted her thought. Her eyes followed its trajectory to a flurry of activity below, where a dozen figures clambered across the dig site, their deft negotiation of the uneven ground attesting to the long hours spent traversing it. Weapons bounced across their backs as they ran, rifles belted at a diagonal over multiracial, muscled flesh. This was no archaeological team taking meticulous care to preserve their find. No matter how dignified their veneer, the Gural Nataz was nothing more than a collection of crude guerillas, carrying out its raids sans any political agenda. It was greed incarnate.

Lloyd motioned for them to move, and Sydney straightened, biting back a groan. The world wavered around her for a moment, then righted itself.

She didn't argue the when Nigel reached out to catch her elbow, steadying her, concern etched into his every nuance of motion and appearance. Whatever he read in her face, it prompted him to move closer, his hand closing around hers. She swallowed, finding it hard to break free of his gaze. Finally he pulled her along, and she followed, unable to explain how he'd suddenly taken the lead again in this rollercoaster of fortunes. She merely clung to his present superior strength and kept her focus on watching for trouble.

There should be a security team around the dig perimeter, she thought, frowning. Yet she saw no slight movement, no flash of a cigarette lighter, felt no rising of the hairs at the back of her neck that told her she was being watched. Was the Gural Nataz team so certain of itself that it discarded its normal precepts? Then she became aware of the sounds of their footsteps on the loose volcanic scruff, noise that cut through the silence. The hillsides echoed back its sounds, amplifying them.

There would be no way to sneak up on their enemy. There would be no element of surprise to save them, not unless they could find a way to jump from the towering boulders without killing themselves in the process. The Gural Nataz would hear them coming.

A sickening thought hit her, and she froze, unable to take another step. Her eyes drifted to the pistol in her hand, and the truth became crystal clear. Lloyd planned to fire on the camp from behind the cover of the boulders. He intended to employ guerilla tactics, himself, murdering the men and women who stood between them and the prize. It was the only way they could get Ichriem and get out without being killed themselves.

No! She would do almost anything for a relic, and almost anything to prevent the Gural Nataz from controlling what could be the world's most potent weapon. Almost anything. But not murder. She wouldn't take lives, picking them off like playing a video game. If she did that, she would be no better than the armed criminals below.

Nigel leaned in to whisper, "Sydney, can you keep moving? I know you should be resting, not traipsing across this hellhole, but we can't leave you behind to rest."

His lips were so close to her ear she swore they brushed her skin, and she shivered, unable to reconcile the flood of emotions the thought unleashed. Her eyes fluttered closed for a moment and she nodded, surprised to hear herself whisper in return, "I'm fine."

His expression accused her of lying.

They moved along a rocky bluff, following a narrow ledge that wound along its lines. More than once they had to turn sideways to keep from falling, and more than once they dislodged dark pebbles that clattered downward hundreds of feet to the base of the cliff. Sydney didn't waste the energy to ask where they were going. She focused putting one foot in front of the other, and in maintaining her grip on Nigel's hand. She clasped it even along the most dizzying moments of their climb. Lloyd moved slowly but deliberately. Sydney prayed that his assurance wasn't pure bravado.

Lloyd sagged against the stone wall, and for a moment Sydney was terrified that he would follow the pebble cascade to his death.

But a hand snaked out to brace him, and Lloyd glanced up, eyes wide. A slow smile spread across his face, a smile tempered by pain and grief. "Thanks, Bailey. You're good people."

Preston chuckled, "I see now why you left my hands free."

Straightening, Lloyd sucked in a breath, blew it out, and announced, "Almost there."

He took only a few more steps when he disappeared into the rock, blinking out of sight without warning. Panic rose in Sydney as she searched the ground below them. She hadn't even seen him fall.

"Hurry up, guys, we need to get moving here!"

Lloyd's voice startled her, but there was a subtle Doppler shift that explained a great deal. He was inside a cave! Moments later, the entire entourage huddled inside the shelter, welcoming the broader platform underfoot. The dirt floor was just that – dirt. There was none of the loose stone that covered the rest of the island. It made sense, really. Beyond the cave, there were palm trees and other flora rising from beneath the sharp gravel, bearing testament to the fact that there really was soil below.

Nigel cried out, and for a moment Sydney thought he was hurt. A second shout told her otherwise, and he released the hold on her hand, dashing to one wall, his fingers hovering a couple of inches from the smoke-altered face. "Oh, my God, it's amazing!" he exclaimed. I haven't seen anything like this before, though. What about you, Syd?"

She made her way across the floor, conceding to her weakness by sitting on the floor to examine his discovery. Most of the wall was blackened by soot. Yet marching across with remarkable precision, a line of narration ran in the color of the native stone, the pale green basalt that constituted most of the island. The creators apparently used some sort of pigment to write their message, and when the paint wore off millennia later, their missive became visible once again.

"Can you translate it?" she asked.

"It's Phoenician," he replied, his voice taking on the distant quality that spoke of absorption. Pointing to a long passage, he intoned, "The fight was intense and many lives were sacrificed, but we won the prize. The Ichriem is…" He squinted. "Is…"

"Is ours," Preston interjected, stepping in next to his brother. "Ichriem is ours. We have brought it to the stronghold of Atlantis and flaunt it in our enemy's face. They can see it, but their arms aren't long enough to reach it. They worship their own power, forgetting to honor the Gods who granted that strength."

"Your Phoenician always was better than mine," Nigel sighed, a trace of the old bitterness coloring his voice.

"Only because I read your papers. They made sense of the textbooks. I was always so damned jealous of that, you know. You could take the most complex archaeological technicalities and break them down into English, making them clear as glass. I could never do that."

"You were jealous – of me?"

"Good God, yes. You were always dad's favorite, too, no matter how hard I worked. And when it came to women, I was always second in line. They went for you first, and then for me."

Nigel tilted his head, and Sydney saw the gears churning as he considered that. "You went for my old girlfriends all the time."

"Well, yeah. I couldn't get one of my own back then. You got the girls I wanted even when you were twelve and I was fifteen! It was downright humiliating!" Preston flushed, glancing at Claudia. "It doesn't happen any more," he announced, glaring at his brother, apparently daring him to argue the point.

Lloyd cleared his throat. "Children, can't this wait? I think you were translating here."

Giving Lloyd a nod, Nigel resumed, "It outlines a list of curses on the Egyptians, most of which came true. It says that the Ichriem isn't to be taken lightly. They say its power is nearly that of the celestial gods, and that misuse could destroy the world. It is a tool…"

Sydney picked up where he left off. "That word – it doesn't exactly mean tool. More like enhancer. And it says its power isn't in its heart, it is in the hearts of those who wield it."

Lloyd exploded, "I know what it is. Does it say where it is? The Gural Nataz hasn't found it yet. I want to keep it that way."

"Well, it says that the Phoenicians hid it where the Egyptians could see it but not reach it. Someplace high, perhaps?" Preston offered.

"No, they'd have been more ingenious than that," Sydney replied, chewing on her thumbnail. Her mind was awhirl with possibilities. "It would be arranged to taunt them. Height wouldn't stop the Egyptians, anyway. They built obelisks and pyramids, remember? We still don't know everything they did to raise stones that large to those heights."

To Sydney's surprise, Nigel knelt to pick up a pebble from the floor, clasping it in his hand, turning it, his mouth pursed and eyes narrowing. "I wonder…"

"What is it?" Sydney asked, already suspecting.

Nigel tossed her the rock and advised, "See for yourself."

She reached for the clear stone, realizing that its color alone was a powerful clue to its origin. "Not native, is it?"

"Nope," Nigel replied. He was now grinning from ear to ear. "I'm surprised Claudia didn't get it."

"I don't believe it!" Sydney laughed. "It makes sense, when you think about it. The Phoenecians knew about it five thousand years ago." She turned the rock in her palm, delighted as she watched the smooth contours catch the light. "And the Egyptians would have been stupefied. They knew about it, knew how to manipulate it on a smaller scale, but something like this would have thrown them for a loop. They would have attributed it to the Gods, not to Phoenician industry."

She tossed the stone to Claudia, who burst out in a fit of giggles. "Oh my god! It's glass! They embedded it in glass!"

* 

End Part Forty-Seven


	48. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 48/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, February 1, 2004

"Glass?" Derek echoed. That was it, they'd all officially flipped their lids. _Glass on the ground…_ What did they think this was, the back alley behind a pool hall? "Lemme see that." 

Claudia dutifully passed him the pebble, then looked down at the cave floor as if searching for some more examples. 

Derek scrutinized the little bit of nothing in his hand, directing the beam of his flashlight at it and watching as it twinkled like a miniature prism. _I'll be damned._ It wasn't Coke bottle quality, in fact, it was rather dull and milky in appearance and seemed a little chunky, but it was definitely some kind of glass. He suddenly wished he'd paid more attention to his droning college history professor rather than flirting with that redheaded chick who'd sat next to him with the big… "Alright, I'll play. What's the significance?" 

Sydney tilted her head slightly. "The Phoenicians are usually credited with discovering glass," she explained. "There was a myth that around four or five thousand BC some soldiers camping on a beach accidentally created it by starting a fire in the sand and cooking their dinner over blocks of soda. The soda coupled with the heat and the sand created a sort of molten glass in the cooking pit, which hardened after the fire went out."* Of course, this was never proven, and it wasn't until over a thousand years later that glass products began appearing around the Mediterranean and Egypt… beads and rods mostly… some dating back to 2500BC."* 

"_Hmm_… Yes," Nigel chipped in rather absently, having returned to staring in thoughtful fascination at the ancient writing on the wall. He ran his fingers over one of the words, more interested in translating than really joining the conversation. "Although there are quite a few discrepancies as to where they were actually first manufactured." 

Lloyd scrubbed his hand across his face. Just what he needed: the history of the world as lived by glass smiths. But he had a feeling he was going to have put up with it for the time being. 

Finding Ichriem hadn't been his initial assignment, his orders had been to bring in The Viper, and if at all possible, recover Nigel Bailey. There were rules in his organization after all… rule one was of course, 'don't get caught' (a handy guideline which had pretty much been blown to hell on this trip). The second rule though was the one he'd always placed more stock in, trying to put it first whenever possible: Save the hostage. 

Then of course, then there was the addendum, hidden rule 2.1: Appease the diplomats, who in this case, would probably be less than thrilled to explain how a British citizen was kidnapped from police protection. 

It was only after his last check-in on the helicopter he discovered his orders had changed. He was now to keep Ichriem from the Gurel Nataz at all costs. Backup was supposedly in the area, Abraham had assured him a team was here, but where they were hiding on this speck of an island, he didn't know. 

Sure he'd tracked down a few artifacts for the government before ever meeting Sydney Fox, but he was no expert. He'd merely followed the clues and hoped for the best. Luck and training always seemed to get him through, and he would be the first to admit he was no 'true grit,' never-say-die relic hunter. 

He had to defer to the experts on this one. 

It was up to Syd and the Bailey boys to figure out where this forsaken statue was hiding, and if they wanted to sit around and brainstorm, he'd have to go along with it… _Yeesh!..Boring!…_ Which wasn't to say he couldn't try speeding things along. "Alright, I get it, glass has been around for a long time, so's my great aunt Matilda." He closed his eyes and exhaled before opening them again. "Come on guys, long story short huh? Did they have the know-how to actually embed this thing in glass? And even if they could, is it something they _would_ have done?" 

"If they did," Preston began, turning slightly from his deciphering, "it would defy history. There's no record of any society on the Mediterranean rim ever using glass on such a large scale. The idol itself is supposedly a meter high and made mainly of gold… to embed it in glass, they would have probably dipped it into the molten mixture…" he chewed his lip thoughtfully, "…which I'm afraid is scientifically impossible." 

Silence momentarily fell. 

"Of course," Nigel muttered, suddenly seeing exactly what his brother meant and mentally berating himself for not realizing it sooner. Had he been Wile E. Coyote a light bulb would have popped over his head. "It wouldn't work." Glancing up, he could tell no one else had a clue what they were talking about, not even Sydney judging by the odd look she was giving him. 

"Why not?" Claudia asked in confusion, giving voice to the obvious question. 

"Chemistry," Nigel explained, exchanging a confirming glance with his brother. "It takes temperatures of roughly 1400 to 1600°C to create molten glass… and considering pure gold melts at not much more than 1000°C…" he trailed off. "If they _did_ try encasing Ichriem directly in glass, given the technology of the time, it would have likely either deformed the statue or completely melted the gold and destroyed it." 

Sydney felt her jaw drop slightly, warding off the urge to slap her forehead. 

"He's right," Preston took up again. "For the most part I'm afraid adding gold directly to molten glass usually only produces gold-colored glass." 

"For the most part…" Derek echoed Preston, "so you're saying it's impossible." He posed it as more of a statement than a question. 

"Probably," Preston mused. "It might be possible with a smaller object, gold is conductive, it would likely disperse the heat well, but it would have to have been taken in and out of the molten glass incredibly fast…" he sighed and shook his head. "Given the size and composition we know it would weigh several thousand pounds. I don't think they would have been able to maneuver something so large quickly enough. I also don't think they would have risked it… it could have been too easily damaged and they wanted to make sure it was intact to torment the Egyptians." 

"Alright," the agent nodded; it made sense to him… in a freaky, old world, 'let's-show-'em-what-_we've_-got' kind of way. "So what about another way, like glassblowing? Could they have made, I donno, some kind of bubble around it?" 

Nigel shook his head. "No. They didn't have the technology, glassblowing didn't come into play until several hundred years later. We have to remember the time frame we're dealing with." A rather wry note entered his tone. "I actually had a little discussion with the Viper about this earlier… Our target year for the theft of Ichriem is roughly 1200BC -- the year the Phoenicians broke away from the Egyptian Empire. This was nearly thirteen hundred years after those glass beads first began circulating around the Mediterranean. By then glasswork was not only fairly extensive but commonplace…" he brought his hand up to his chin in a thoughtful expression, "…the pharaohs in particular were in love with it." He looked directly at Sydney. "Remember Thutmose III?" 

"How could I forget?" she smirked slightly. She and Nigel had once been inside his tomb, literally reading the writing on his wall during their quest to clear her friend Bruce Farrow of the theft of the pharaoh's diamond.* She'd always silently dubbed him the King of Shiny Things. Suddenly she knew what Nigel was driving toward. "The goblet," she breathed, "Thutmose's goblet… It was made over two hundred years before Ichriem disappeared. It's one of the most intricate pieces of glasswork ever discovered."* 

"Right." Nigel smiled. 

Sydney shook her head absently, admonishing herself for not having had a better grasp of the situation. She'd been pushed into the hunt cold, forced to hit the ground running with what little she had and never look back. What little she knew came mostly from Artie's old stories… bits and pieces that only led him from one false site to another over the years. 

Her mental timeline had always placed Ichriem around 2000BC, but if Nigel was right and the statue was taken eight hundred years later… the Egyptians might have thought glass was interesting, or possibly a curiosity, but, by itself, it wouldn't have stopped them from trying to get Ichriem back. The point seemed moot now anyway, as Nigel had just reminded her why she hadn't become a chemistry professor. 

She swiveled her head to the wall, staring at the Phoenician symbols. It wasn't her best language, but she knew more than enough about it. There had to be something there… something they were overlooking. "We have brought it to the stronghold of Atlantis," she reread the words, "and flaunt it in our enemy's face. They can see it, but their arms aren't long enough to reach it." The Phoenicians were cocky, they were bragging… proud of their theft and convinced of their cleverness. The clue was there, she _knew_ it, she could practically smell it. 

In the background she was aware of Preston and Nigel talking, speculating about the translation, but her mind was taking a different turn. The idol was somewhere the Egyptians could see it, but not get it, and height wouldn't have been a deterrent. The waters around the island were notoriously rough, and while the Phoenicians were arguably the greatest sea power of the time, she had a feeling the Egyptians could have made it to the island if they'd been properly motivated. 

And the glass---she had a feeling there was still something to it. 

"Nigel," she looked up at her colleague, having not risen from her comfortable sitting position on the floor. "Thutmose's goblet was made with a silicate paste core that was removed after it was molded right?"* 

Nigel broke off his conversation with his brother and furrowed his brow. "Right, the silicate could withstand the heat of the glass. I believe they also used clay for the same purpose…especially with things like goblets. After the glass cooled they'd merely chip the clay from the core…" He broke off and his eyes suddenly widened. At his side, Preston sucked in a breath of comprehension. 

"The clay!" the three of them exclaimed in tandem. 

"Of course!" Preston breathed. "It would have been brilliant!" 

_Ah!_ Derek thought, perking up slightly at the apparent epiphany. This was the kind of talk he wanted to hear. _That didn't take half as long as I thought._

"They could have hidden it in plain sight," Nigel practically gushed with the idea, shaking his head in near disbelief. "The Egyptians might have passed by everyday and seen it, but never known it was there… that explains why they never recovered it." 

"Talk about flaunting it in your enemies face." Sydney arched a corner of her mouth in a sly smile. 

Claudia looked at Derek, who merely shrugged, then looked from Nigel to Preston and Sydney and pursed her lips. She hated being left out of the loop, if the three of them wanted to play psychic friends, they could at least translate when an audience was present. "Um, okay, so what did they do? Bury it in clay?" 

"No," Nigel answered, a glow of discovery in his voice, "not buried. They covered it in it." 

"…For protection from the molten glass," Preston took up the explanation as soon as Nigel finished the sentence, having almost the same excited tone of voice. 

Sydney nodded. "The clay would have absorbed the heat and kept the whole thing nice and cool." 

Derek whistled, suitably impressed. "Smooth." What else could he say? You had to admire anyone who went to that much trouble just to antagonize an enemy… and he'd antagonized quite a few of his own over the years. 

"Yes, and it could have been disguised as nearly anything," Nigel pointed out. "While they hadn't mastered clear glass, they were quite good with various colors… I can't imagine it would've been too hard for them to come up with something greenish gray," he patted the wall of the cave with a mischievous expression, "perhaps even the same shade as these rocks." 

Derek caught the note of connotation in the kid's voice and arched an eyebrow. "So you think they disguised it as part of the island? Made it look just like any other piece of rock?" 

"Right," Preston looked to the agent. "It would also have eliminated the need to dip the idol in the glass, they could have just poured the glass over it, perhaps using some kind of rough mold. They wouldn't have been overly concerned with the shape, as long as it looked like anything but a statue." Preston found the whole idea fascinating, plus it would explain why there was no record of the culture using glass on such a scale. Glass had been used for trade and profit, people liked trinkets and beads, goblets and dinnerware… there had never been a market or a need for a large, misshapen glass clump. 

"Alright," Derek fought off a wince as he spoke, his adrenaline level had tapered off a bit after they'd entered the cave, and in his current state, he wondered if that was the only thing keeping him upright. Still… he didn't feel quite as bad as he had earlier and mentally downgraded his injuries a notch. He had a feeling his sore insides were more bruised than ruptured… otherwise he would have keeled over long before making it to the helicopter and all the adrenaline in the world wouldn't have helped. Good news, but that didn't mean it still didn't hurt like hell. "So how are we supposed to find it?" 

"There's one clue here," Sydney pointed at the wall. "It says it was where the Egyptians could see it, so it must be somewhere unobstructed on the east or southeast side of the island-the sides facing Egypt and the old trade routes. Other than that…" she sighed and trailed off. 

Nigel stared at the writing, snagging his brother's sleeve and turning him back towards it as well. "What are we missing?" he mused, bringing his hand up to his chin and furiously pouring over the translation again. 

"I don't know," his brother muttered in return, staring just as hard at the writing. "There just aren't any specifics here-just vague implications about the power of the idol," he pointed to a few symbols, "the theft, and the curses on Egypt. Aside from what Sydney's pointed out, there isn't the first thing about where to look." He ran his hand through his hair in frustration and glanced around the cave, being met with nothing but an arched ceiling and innocuous gray-tinged walls. If there were any more clues in it, they weren't immediately visible. Preston's train of thought suddenly screeched to a halt and he turned around. "Derek," he asked quickly, "how did you know about this cave?" 

The agent's head snapped up. A curious, almost surprised expression marked his features. "I don't know, it was in the intelligence report I read on the chopper. I assumed the team sent ahead of us found it… in fact," he admitted, frowning slightly, "I was expecting to find them here." 

Sydney frowned as well. What _had_ happened to Derek's backup? Had they been captured by the Gurel Nataz? And speaking of the proverbial bank of bad pennies, what _were_ they doing anyway? They'd set up an excavation not far from the cave… at an inland location, which, by all clues, couldn't be where Ichriem was hidden. Why? Was it a decoy? Did they know something she didn't? Or, just like the Nazis in Indiana Jones, were they merely digging in the wrong place? 

"Do you have any aerial photographs?" Preston continued, oblivious to Sydney's internal monologue. 

Derek nodded, unzipping a long pocket on his combat vest and withdrawing a few folded sheets of paper and pen. "What are you looking for?" 

Preston moved, taking the pictures and unfolding them, then kneeling down and laying them out on the ground. They were blown-up, enhanced images, obviously computer printed copies, but of good quality. Circular topographic marks of higher and lower elevations were even superimposed over the images. The others joined him as Derek held the flashlight over their heads, creating an almost angelic halo effect around them. "I'm not sure yet." He noticed a spot circled on one of the pictures and pointed to it. "Is this the cave?" 

"Yeah," Derek answered. "We're on the north side of the island right now… you can probably tell from the picture, the elevation is a little lower here than where we landed in the south." 

Preston traced his finger along the east and southeastern shore. "This is the area we're concentrating on. If the statue is there, we have to narrow it down a bit more." He cocked his head slightly. "Off the top we can eliminate any place that doesn't offer a clear view of the ocean." He reached up and took the pen Derek offered him, quickly uncapping it and making a few marks on one of the maps. 

"Right," Sydney nodded in approval. "And chances are good it wouldn't be directly on the ground either. They would have put it up high enough to be seen, even if they thought no one would ever see it." 

Preston made a few more marks on the map. They'd eliminated about sixty percent of the territory. "Alright, anything else?" 

Nigel studied the map thoughtfully. Even from the air the landscape left much to be desired… the northern portion, where they apparently were, bore all mental marks of the word 'island'. The sandy beach and scattered tropical plants made it look every bit like its more popular cousins, the Canary Islands to the west, but it was a shallow illusion, covering a mere half a mile of shore. His eyes suddenly zeroed in on one of the unmarked gaps that escaped Preston's pen on the eastern shore. "I could be mistaken, but doesn't this look like another cave entrance?" 

With a grunt of effort, Derek knelt down to have a better look. "Let me see…" he scrutinized the spot on the bluffs Nigel indicated, carefully examining the topographic markings. "It could be, the contours are deflected… or it could be some kind of natural drain."* He looked up to see a familiar spark in the eyes of the three scholars, and he knew what that meant. "Let me guess, you want to go there?" 

"It's the best shot we have." Sydney agreed. "If they wrote in this cave, who's to say they didn't do it in another one… one closer to where they hid the statue?" 

Derek exhaled, mentally laying out the logistics. The Gurel Nataz was close, but then again, going to the east side of the island meant moving away from them… a definite plus. Like Sydney, he didn't know what their enemy was up to with their not-to-distant excavation, but he trusted Syd and the Baileys had a better feel for relics than the Gurel Nataz. 

And as they didn't have any better ideas anyway… "What the hell?" he decided. "Shouldn't take more than an hour or two… besides," he smiled wryly, "I've always wanted to see the sunrise from a deserted island." 

At the agreement they all stood, meeting each other's glance in the shadowed glow of the flashlight. Something unspoken passed between them: they were a team, and together they were going to make sure each of them lived to see not only that sunrise, but the thousands that would follow it. 

End Part 48 

Notes: (As ff.n doesn't like links, these will be posted in the review section.) 

***** Gold melts at 1,063.0°C (or 1945°F) Alloyed gold, which is gold chemically combined with other metals, has lower melting points. (For example, 18 karat gold will melt before 24 karat gold will-the lower the karat, the more non-gold alloy is present) 

End Part Forty-Eight


	49. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 49/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, February 15, 2004

Traversing the tiny island was an arduous job. Preston and Claudia were relatively healthy, but neither was accustomed to the rigors of a relic hunt, and certainly not to the kind of hike required for this one. Lloyd, Sydney, and Nigel were in various stages of recovery from physical trauma. With the additional constraints of climbing through semi-darkness over an inundating, unforgiving path, they made precious little progress in just over two hours. When the moon finally set, they were forced to stop. Brilliant though they were, the millions of stars strewn across the midnight skies weren't enough to illuminate the landscape. Neither could the relic-hunting team risk using flashlights and alerting the enemy of their presence.

Preston volunteered to stand first watch and Claudia piped up immediately that she wasn't tired and would be more than happy to keep him company.

Nigel shrugged, figuring there was no accounting for tastes – in either case – and he was more than happy for whatever respite their blossoming romance offered him. He ached from head to toe, and was more tired than he could ever recall being. From what little he could see, Sydney looked like she was about to topple over, too, and Lloyd was operating on automatic pilot, barely able to go through the motions of putting one foot in front of the other.

They camped out beneath the trees, their only bed the rocky, compacted soil. Nigel stretched out in the dirt, flicking away a bug that lit on his arm and blinking when Sydney moved in next to him. While she didn't actually touch him, there was an inexplicable and undeniable territoriality to her presence. They were partners and friends and would continue to stand together – even lying down, if need be! He closed both eyes, then opened one, catching sight of Lloyd moving to Sydney 's other side.

Nigel sighed. It made sense, really. They needed to stay together. But by the same token, Nigel smiled when Sydney turned toward him, her back to Lloyd.

"Night, Nige," Sydney murmured through a yawn. "Don't worry, about it tonight, okay? We'll figure it out in the morning." Whether she reached for his hand or to pat him on the head like a puppy, Nigel wasn't sure. All he saw was that she reached for him and fell asleep midway. Her hand dropped to his chest, palm-up.

Not knowing what else to do, Nigel cupped his hand over hers and closed his eyes.

_~*~_

Breakfast was a double gulp of water from a battered canteen and a fistful of a native berries that Sydney insisted were safe to eat. Nigel didn't argue, all things considered, though his stomach was rumbling out a protest at the moment. He brushed away a low-hanging tree branch, inadvertently flinging its hidden snake a few hundred yards away. He wondered absently if it was poisonous.

Glancing from one companion to another, Nigel decided that they had to be one of the most ragged teams ever assembled. Sydney 's normal relic-hunting costume of fitted black jeans and stretch shirt had seen better days. Its fabric was torn here and there to reveal where thorns and brush bit into her skin. Dark circles beneath her eyes betrayed the strain of the past few days. It seemed like a lifetime, but in reality, it was only about three weeks since the conference in the U.S. At least, Nigel _thought_ it was only about three weeks. He wasn't sure exactly how long he'd been captive in the Viper's lair. 

Lloyd looked a little better today than the day before. Not that it was saying much. The abrasive agent moved like a robot, jerking his limbs with each step. Lloyd had taken off his tee shirt and tied it around his head, in the course exposing the mass of injuries he'd received at the hands of the Viper. Deep, nearly black bruises showed blows to his ribs, abdomen, and kidneys. Seeing the horrible damage up close, Nigel was overwhelmed by guilt. He'd been kidnapped and drugged, but not beaten like Lloyd had been. Why? What perversion of fate said that Lloyd be on the receiving end of such brutality, while Nigel walked away relatively unscathed? Was it because he'd become ill? Was it because the Viper considered him too important in finding the relic? Was it because the killer thought a milquetoast Englishman was too inconsequential?

Preston was stumbling along, and Claudia was walking two steps behind, mumbling in her sleep. They hadn't taken the first watch, they'd taken the _only_ watch of the night. As generous as that was on the surface, Nigel worried that it could come back to haunt them later. He knew instinctively that they'd need all their faculties to get out of this alive, Viper or no Viper.

In daylight, the team made better time. While the island was no more than a couple of kilometers or so across, it was easily fifteen times that in length. They were careful to stay in the relative shelter of the wooded interior, hoping that the tree canopy would be adequate to conceal their march. By mid afternoon, they reached the location that Lloyd had circled on this enhanced satellite map. The lower portion of the cliffs rose nearly perpendicular to the ground, shadowy green basalt that spoke of a volcanic past. They were standing on a modest shelf about halfway up from the island floor. And there was no sign of a cave, nor of Ichriem.

Nigel kicked at the gravel underfoot. Mixed with the crumbled basalt were bits of obsidian, the volcanic glass that occurred only when lava was cooled too fast for crystals to form. Some of the smaller pieces were tumbled and worn to a smooth finish. In the Southwestern US the smooth obsidian pebbles were called Apache tears, for a legend of an Indian couple who threw themselves off a cliff to their deaths because they were denied a life together. The stones looked glossy black from a distance, becoming crystal-clear when held up to a light source.* 

_More useless facts,_ Nigel reminded himself, resisting the urge to collect a few of the stones and heave them at the unrelenting sun. He settled for tossing one of the obsidian chips against the cliff, listening for the _chink_ of stone-to-stone. Except when the rock connected, there was a slightly different tone than he was expecting. 

He stared, moving next to the wall and flattening his hand over its weathered surface. God… The color and texture blended perfectly into the surroundings, but up close, its translucent surface gave it away. He was too shocked to be excited. " Sydney …" he asked, "How big a hunk of glass d'you suppose we're looking for, anyway?" He stepped back, trying to calculate where the rough slag ended and the mountain began.

"I dunno. It would probably depend on how much they had. The Phoenicians had to melt it down and pour it over the statue, which presumably was encased in some kind of clay. But they would have been limited. They wouldn't have had the kind of equipment to do a massive glass manufacture like what the big companies have today." She was standing close by and looking more than a little nervous. "Nigel…"

"Wanna bet?" he asked, stepping back still further.

"Whoa!" Sydney dashed forward and caught his arm, yanking him forward. "You have a death wish?? Watch where you're going!" She grabbed him by the shoulders and turned him around to see the step he'd nearly taken, one that would have dropped him over a precipice. "What the hell are you doing?"

For his reply, he pointed straight ahead. "It's right there. We're sitting right on it, and you can't see it unless you know what you're looking for. But it's enormous. I don't think we're going to break the glass with more rocks. What if we came all this way for nothing?"

He saw the comprehension dawn in her face, a clear picture of what they were up against. Like the Egyptians, they could see it, but they couldn't touch the statue.

A second later there was a hoarse cry from Lloyd. "No!" he shouted. "It's a damned massacre!" The agent had dropped to all fours on the lip of the rocky floor, his face twisted in horror.

The rest of the tiny party followed Lloyd's stare. From their vantage, they could see as a contingent of agents swarmed over the place where the Gural Nataz had been digging. But the Gural Nataz wasn't there. The guerrillas were perched above the pit, standing or squatting on ledges and ridges, their weapons trained on the unsuspecting good guys. It didn't take much to figure out what they planned.

Sydney gasped, "We've got to do something!"

"What can we do?" Nigel challenged, frustration tearing a hole in his midsection. "We're too far away to shout out a warning, and we'd only get ourselves shot, anyway. They're too far away for us to shoot _them_, and we can't get there before it's too late. It would take us at least a couple of hours to reach them, even if we could take them on!" Nigel was caught up in the macabre scene, unable to tear his eyes away even while knowing if he didn't that it would haunt him for the rest of his life. He was about to watch dozens of men and women slaughtered like lambs, and there was nothing he could do about it.

"What about Ichriem?"

Nigel whirled at the sound of his brother's voice. " Preston , the damned statue can wait! Those people are about to be murdered in cold blood."

"No, Podge, I don't mean that! What if it's true about the statue? About its power? What if two of us are soul mates and could use Ichriem to stop the massacre?"

End Chapter Forty-Nine


	50. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Part 50/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran ( carilorus@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

Posted: Sunday, February 22, 2004

Nigel locked eyes with his brother, suspecting the stress had finally gotten to him. For Preston, a person who was usually grounded like a wire in solid reality, to suggest such a thing was practically beyond belief. But as he met his brother's gaze and saw the open and completely honest expression reflected in his eyes he knew the suggestion was being made in earnest. Whether from desperation or a genuine leap of blind faith, Preston truly believed the statue could help. 

Turning slowly, Nigel stared up at the looming coastal wall, suddenly feeling very small and insignificant. Somewhere up there, hidden behind the greatest act of camouflage the world had ever known, was one of the most obscure objects of all antiquity. And if it was really there, if it actually existed, did that mean it also embodied the colossal powers of the myth? 

Lloyd stepped forward, looking suspiciously from one Bailey to the other. "What are you talking about? What kind of power?" 

Nigel felt his brother had moved, coming to stand by his side, and he found himself shaking his head. "It's only a legend," he said softly and as he spoke, he felt a hand come down on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze. 

"So is Ichriem," Preston said, moving into his line of sight. "But look where we are Nigel, look how far we've come," he nodded towards the cliff. "If it's really up there, that's one legend we'll have proven true. Who's to say we can't make it two?" 

Nigel regarded him for a moment, arching one eyebrow. The wind picked up slightly, whistling around them and rustling through their hair as a silent moment passed between them. Preston had a point. They really _didn't_ have anything to lose. "I hate it when you make sense," he muttered without malison, and seeing his brother smile in return, he moved to face Derek Lloyd, noting the agent had turned to Sydney for answers. 

"All right Syd, spill it, what's he talking about?" 

"An ancient myth about the statue," she thoughtfully stared at the portion of rock Nigel identified as artificial. "I don't know all the details, but if it's true, he could be talking about the power to control the world." 

"Control the world?" The agent echoed dryly. "Control the..." he trailed off, throwing up his hands, which did little to help the strained muscles in his arms. _Not even half a day's gone by and I'm already falling down another friggin' rabbit hole into Wonderland._ He once again considered what he wouldn't give for an aspirin or, better yet, a stiff shot of bourbon. "If you've decided to take up comedy, this is a real bad time." 

"It's no joke," Sydney advanced to the wall, placing her palm flat against the roughly hewn glass. For what it was, the years had been incredibly kind to it. The wind of two millennia had worn more than a few grooves in the surface, but aside from crusty patches of lichen, both living and long dead, it was still the perfect disguise. In fact, much like a fine wine, it was probably better now than it had ever been. "At least, the Egyptians didn't think so." 

Derek stared at her, his steel blue eyes flicking from her form to the weathered coastal wall before he swore and exhaled. Early retirement suddenly seemed wildly appealing. Lot's of guys retired at thirty-four didn't they? "All right," he rubbed the bridge of his nose. _Aspirin, aspirin, aspirin._ "Fine, whatever." Magic statue? Sure, why the hell not? They were already in so deep it'd take a backhoe to dig them out. He absurdly thought of the mission report he'd have to write when … **IF**… they got out of this mess. _"We spotted the Gurel Nataz approaching the field agents, so we tried to find a way to get the magic statue out of the glass mountain."_ Riiiight. "So what do we do? Say 'open sesame'?" 

"Let me see the map again." Nigel replied. 

Lloyd obliged, pulling out the map and unfolding it as he came to Nigel's side. "The cave?" 

"Right." Nigel took one corner of the map as Derek supported the other. "It's what lead us here and I think it's still our best chance." Finding the topographic mark on the map, he looked up at the cliff, then back to the map trying to get a placement. 

Derek did the same, scanning both the glass and surrounding rock for anything that might be a cave entrance. "Listen, Nige," he spoke quietly. "This stuff about the statue… is it on the level? Anything we do, we have to do it quick," a muscle twitched in his jaw, "our guys down there don't have much time." 

The young man paused in his examination of the map. "I know," he answered simply, implying a volume of information with those two lightly spoken words, a volume he could tell Derek understood. He knew time was running out, knew just how grim things appeared, and was all-too aware of the price of failure. "As for the statue," he sighed, running his free hand through his hair in frustration. "I honestly don't know. The legend itself is very obscure, and from what I remember, maddeningly vague. In ancient Egypt, an ichriem was something along the lines of a soul mate, but that's not the exact translation." 

"It was more of a concept than anything," Preston joined in thoughtfully, having been standing beside them, not only following the conversation, but also scanning for the cave entrance. "A combination of ideals we identify separately now, I don't think there's really an English equivalent for it. When you were an ichriem, it meant you were… well, rather like Tefnut and Shu, someone who was part of a balance." 

"Right," Nigel continued, stealing another glance at the map and looking at the cliff again. "Anyway, according to the legend, when ichriems touched the statue at the same time, they could release power within it. As to what this power was…" he sighed. "No one really knows for sure." 

"Swell," Derek muttered, not particularly surprised. "You're not really instilling me with a hell of a lot of confidence here buddy. Come on, you have some kind of theory about it don't you?" he prodded, deciding to lay his cards on the table. "I know that's what you and Syd were being so hush-hush about back in the chopper." At Nigel's startled expression, he nearly laughed. _Looks like he almost forgot what I do for a living._ "I heard you mention something about a crystal and the rest sort of fell into place. So what's your idea?" 

"Yes," Preston studied his brother with a sudden intense curiosity. They hadn't had much of a chance to discuss that topic since being reunited. In fact, he'd scarcely even thought about it. "What _is_ your idea?" 

Nigel wasn't sure if it was the best time to put forth his theory or not. Glancing off to the side, he could see Sydney and Claudia had spread out, each scanning the rock face for a way inside. The cave had to be there, it just _had_ to be. If positive thinking ever had an effect on anything, now would be the time for it to work. Given all he'd endured, he couldn't bring himself to believe the statue had been sealed away with the intent of forever. Fate just couldn't be so cruel. 

Then again, maybe he was only suffering from a case of the same blind optimism that prodded his brother to suggest Ichriem as their salvation. 

"Well," he started, trying to think of the easiest explanation. "A lot of people, including The Viper, thought Ichriem was made of solid gold, but what if that wasn't the case? What if rather than being solid gold, it was made more of crystal? Perhaps some sort of quartz." 

"Yeah, okay," Derek nodded. "So…?" 

"Wait a minute," Preston cocked his head off to the side, the information obviously telling him something Lloyd didn't hear. Everything he knew about the ancient relic slowly clicked into place: Gold, crystal, a mysterious power… "I could be horribly mistaken, but are you talking about an electric generator?" 

"Theoretically." Nigel agreed with a light smile, feeling absurdly pleased his brother caught on to the connotation. At least he wasn't alone in the way he'd put together the pieces. 

And put together the pieces Preston did. "Good Lord," he muttered, already trying to work out the science in his mind. 

Derek looked at Nigel. Generator? He was no rocket scientist, but he hadn't just tumbled off the turnip truck. "Are you saying this thing makes and then somehow uses its own energy?" At the affirming nod he pursed his lips. "How is that possible? If you're right, it's just made of gold and crystal. I know gold is a hell of a conductor, but where would the energy come from for it to conduct?" 

"The crystal," the two brothers answered simultaneously, exchanging a sheepish look when they realized what they'd done. "Sorry," they both toned, repeating the phenomena and biting back sudden smiles. 

Lloyd rolled his eyes. "Great. It comes in stereo." He now officially had a hard time grasping how two people with the ability to think so much alike could have ever been at odds. Maybe that was just the way things went with brothers… or siblings within five years of age. He couldn't relate in either case, growing up with two older sisters, the youngest of which was six years his senior. Sophie and Claire never bothered competing with him for anything, he flew under their radar like a stealth bomber, and their own sisterly rivalry was so feeble it scarcely existed. He didn't know what the deal was with the two Bailey's, but if they had any sense they shouldn't be in any hurry to revert to their old ways. "So how could this crystal create energy?" 

"It's a little hard to explain," Nigel started. "But basically, if they were using quartz crystals, there's a number of things they could have done. Quartz has an interesting property: if it's exposed to stress an electric charge will build up on its surface." 

"Yes, it's… oh what's the word?" Preston frowned in sudden frustration, wracking his food and sleep deprived brain for information he knew he had. "Piezoelectric!" he snapped his fingers, looking pleased. "It literally means 'electricity by pressure'. If I remember right, the charge is proportional to the amount of force against the crystal." 

"Okay," Derek nodded. It seemed simple enough. "So you squeeze it and it charges up. How much power could something like that give off?" 

"It would depend on the size of the crystal and how much force was applied," Nigel answered. "What I think we'd be dealing with would be a collection of smaller pieces, rather like plates or wafers. If they were cut at the right angle, they'd be more effective than one large stone." He rubbed a hand across his face, then made an absent gesture as he began to tread in strange waters. Physics wasn't really his cup of tea. "I don't know exactly how it would work, it would depend how many wafers there were… potentially I suppose it could produce thousands of volts." 

"That's not all it could do either." Preston suddenly wore a severe expression as his train of thought chugged through station after station and picked up rail-rattling speed. "If I remember right, piezoelectricity also works in reverse. If the voltage was applied back to another crystal, it could resonate on the frequency of that crystal, just like an old crystal radio set." 

"Sound waves," Nigel breathed, suddenly looking just as severe as his brother. 

Derek was starting to see the possibilities. Sound and electricity could be powerful things. Maybe ancient relics and lost civilizations weren't his thing, but weapons and tactics were, and whatever this gizmo was, it definitely sounded handy… That is, if it worked and did… well, whatever it was supposed to do that made it so freakin' important. 

As the three men mulled over the technical possibilities, Sydney followed a physical approach. Having sent Claudia in the opposite direction, she wandered about fifteen yards down the craggy landscape, keeping her eyes locked firmly on the rising bluffs. Logic dictated she had to be close. The glass shield against the cliff had ended roughly five yards behind her, meaning she was now looking at natural rock. Taking another step, she scanned the cliff once again and was about to move on when something curious caught her eye. 

There, roughly twenty feet up and in the shadow of a jutting piece of stone, was what appeared to be an even deeper shadow hemmed by an outcropping. _Hmm._ She pushed the hair from her face, raised a hand to block the sun, and studied the anomaly a little closer, feeling a familiar tingle of excitement spark deep in the back of her mind. Wasting no time she reached down for a smooth chunk of rock and, with a wish and a prayer, sent it hurtling towards the shadow. The stone vanished into the darkness and the tingling spark flared to a blaze. 

This was it. 

~*~

The climb up the face of the cliff was surprisingly quick and mercifully easy thanks to the juts and crags of the uneven rock face. All in all, no worse than climbing a ladder, which was a refreshing treat given their arduous journey to date. 

Once in the cave, Derek flicked on his flashlight and Sydney edged up beside him. "Keep your eyes open," she warned. "There might be a trap in here." 

The agent sighed. "_Might_ be a trap? You know Syd, if there _isn't_ a trap in here I'd be more surprised." He smiled lightly as he flashed his light across the ground. So far nothing out of the ordinary, it looked like any other cave he'd ever seen, although it strangely didn't seem as dark as it should have been. "Anyone want to make a friendly wager?" he quipped. "I've still got a few dinars in my pocket. What do you say Nige? Pres? You gambling men? Three to one, I say there's a booby trap down this hole." 

"Well," Preston answered, reaching out to touch the rock wall, "I happen to have a few dinars in my pocket too, so for the sake of good luck, I'll accept that wager." 

"I'll second that," Nigel added. 

"You don't have any money," his brother teased. 

"Well you could always give me a loan." 

"Loan you money to gamble?" Preston managed to sound suitably aghast, making a 'tsking' noise in mock disapproval and trying to keep back a quick smile. "Wouldn't that make you like great uncle Cedric?" 

Nigel nearly laughed. "Wouldn't that make you like grandfather?" he retorted. 

"Wouldn't that make you both ten years old?" Sydney cut in. _Of all the times for the two of them to engage in repartee…_ "A little concentration here boys, _if_ it's not too much to ask." 

"Seriously Sydney," Preston sobered up, "I don't think we'll find any traps in here, you have to admit, they weren't really the Phoenician's style. And from the writing in the other cave I get the feeling whoever took Ichriem was happy just knowing how clever they'd been in stealing and hiding it." 

"Maybe," she agreed, keeping her eyes forward. There was a good chance Preston was right, but she couldn't take anything for granted. This was the hunt. This was the culmination of something that felt like it'd been over a year in the making. This was a quest she'd never asked for or wanted, the pinnacle of another archeologist's dream, not hers, and now completing it meant the difference between life and death. "But let's not take any chances." 

They crept along about fifteen seconds in silence, each on a cautious lookout when Claudia suddenly spoke up. "Has anyone else noticed it's getting lighter in here or is it just me?" 

"It isn't just you." Nigel confirmed. He too had noticed the gradual increase in visibility and doubted it was due solely to his eyes having adjusted to the cave. And now, much like most things that hover on the edge of peripheral, once someone else pointed it out it seemed even more noticeable. "There must be some sort of light source ahead." 

"Like what?" 

But before anyone could utter a word about the mysterious source of the light, the cave saved them the trouble, answering as the tunnel abruptly ended and left the five adventurers on the threshold of a chamber that absorbed reality. 

For a moment, each of them stood in a state of awe, momentarily lost in a world inhabited only by them. They were no longer on a forsaken and treacherous island, no longer being pursued by the Gurel Nataz, no longer feeling the pain that pulled at their minds and bodies. For a moment, just one moment, it all faded away to be replaced with an image straight from a dream. 

Bright beams of afternoon sun filtered in through a centrally placed glass skylight in the roof of the cave, creating a dusky, pale-green hue that filled the room. An aura of ashen light seemed to almost float on the air, starting in the center of the cavernous chamber and swirling outwards to disappear into the shadows. The rough basalt walls held the same not-quite-gray-not-quite-green shade they'd sported on the outside, but at some point in the past had broken out in a rash of orange lichen. Year after year the lichen had bloomed and died, slowly overtaking the cavern and leaving behind layer after fuzzy layer of itself. The resulting effect stained the walls in varying shades of the color, blending together now like the careful strokes of a desert sunset. 

And in the center of it all, directly below the ghostly halo of light, stood something basking patiently in the glow. For over three thousand years it'd been biding its time, sitting in the safety of a desolate cave while the civilization that created it and the one who stole it both withered away, eventually forgetting it had ever existed. But it didn't forget. It didn't change. It had been made by the hand of man, and by the hand of man it had been sealed away, protected by only a layer of dingy clay and a coating of milky gray glass. 

"I'll be damned." Derek whispered, taking a few tentative steps forwards and breaking the reverent silence. "It's real." 

He hoped he didn't look as surprised as he felt. He could admit he'd gotten sucked into the story of the statue, what with The Viper after it and the Gurel Nataz scuttling out of the woodwork. He'd always suspected the thing existed in some form or another, but as he learned more about it, especially after the science lesson Preston and Nigel had fed him less than ten minutes ago, the more it seemed too good to be true. 

"Don't tell me you didn't think it'd be here," Sydney muttered, trying to ward off the odd feeling she'd stepped through the wardrobe into Narnia. She couldn't tease Derek too much if he hadn't believed: she'd had her own share of doubts, more than she'd care to ever admit. 

"Nah," the agent returned, "I kinda figured it would be here… I just didn't think _we'd_ be here to see it." 

"Fair enough," Sydney moved forward, deducing the area was free from concealed traps. Behind her, the others followed her lead until they all stood gathered around the large glass mound on the cave floor. All in all, she had to admit it was bigger than she'd imagined, the casing stood roughly five feet high, with the base only slightly smaller, she didn't even want to think about how much it had to weigh. 

Nigel tentatively ran his fingers across the cool surface, noting the small bubbles and imperfections within the glass that betrayed how haphazardly it'd been applied. Over time some of the spots weakened by larger bubbles had split and chipped away, leaving varying cracks and pockmarks across the surface. Still… "This is incredible!" he gushed. 

"It certainly is," Preston agreed, reaching out to touch the surface himself. 

"So how do we get it out?" Claudia asked. 

Sydney scrutinized the lumpy form and thoughtfully drew her hand up to her chin. "Well, I guess we could…" 

"Break it," Derek interrupted, checking his watch. He didn't know what she was going to suggest, but if it was anything other than cracking it open as soon as possible, he didn't want to hear it. "We're running out of time." 

The agent's grim tone served as an only too-vivid reminder of what was about to take place beyond the lichen-covered walls. They could each only speculate about what might be happening to Derek's colleagues. While true they hadn't heard any gunfire, there was no guarantee they could from where they were. As much as no one wanted to consider it, it was possible they were already too late. 

"He's right," Sydney agreed. Any archeological urge to treat Ichriem like an ordinary discovery had long since flown out the window. "There's no other way." 

Lloyd wasted no time, slinging the M-16 from his shoulder and flicking a small latch over the trigger. "This is gonna hurt," he muttered, and bracing the gun firmly in his hands, he took a deep breath and rammed the stock squarely into the glass overlay. Regret was almost instantaneous. "Oh yeah," he winced. "Yeah," he repeated in more of a grunt, "that hurt." Pain knifed through his muscles in more places than he cared to count, but at least he had the satisfaction of seeing he'd hurt the shell just as much as it'd hurt him. 

The glass shattered at the point of impact, spewing slivers and chips and sending a latticework of cracks spreading in every direction. "Nice work," Sydney praised, kneeling and pulling at the shattered section with her fingers. It easily crumbled, flaking away clay and revealing a barely visible, tantalizing flash of gold. "The glass is pretty thin, it shouldn't take much more to get it off." She looked up at Derek, seeing the pain reflected in his face and knowing the jarring blow hadn't done his myriad of injuries any favors. A wave of sympathy washed through her. She was about to ask if he was up for the job of chiseling the statue free, when Preston saved her the trouble. 

The elder Bailey stepped forward "I say Derek, why don't you let me have a few whacks at it?" He held out his hand patiently for the gun. "I think I'm entitled to hit the bloody thing for a while, wouldn't you agree?" 

Derek regarded him in mild surprise, an expression that almost immediately faded to gratitude. His male pride might protest the idea he wasn't capable of freeing the statue, but his pride was about the only part of him that wasn't bruised and Preston was offering him a way to keep it that way. The Brit really was the best qualified for the job. True he wasn't a powerhouse of brute strength, but he seemed to have a decent build and fewer injuries than anyone aside from the wispy Claudia. "Yeah," he agreed, passing over the M-16. "I think you might have earned a few slugs at it, just do me a favor and give it one more from me while you're at it." 

"Gladly." Preston took the gun and moved to the other side of the statue, where he braced it in his arms the same way Lloyd had and bore it down against the glass. While he'd been only partially serious in his appeal he deserved a few hits at the statue, he had to admit he was extracting a good deal of satisfaction from it. Again and again he battered the protective layer, moving in a fast and efficient circle around the lower portion. Completing his circuit, he started again a little higher and repeated the process a few more times, being careful around the middle of the statue as the shape indicated a change in mass. 

Even as he worked, some of the weaker portions crumbled, slipping to the floor in a slew of gritty clay and glass chips. Syndey, Nigel, and Claudia knelt beside it, finding it easy to pull the shattered case free, and bit by bit Ichriem became visible. 

They worked quickly, and when the last bit of clay finally fell, the five stood back, at last seeing the three-thousand-year-old treasure that had served to torture their recent existence. 

"Wow," Claudia breathed. 

Bernard Reynold had been close, very close with his wood carving, yet at the same time, a million miles away. 

Ichriem stood a full five feet tall, a glittering mass of crystal, gemstones, and of course, gold. The images of Tefnut and Shu stood nearly back to back, carved of a deep black stone and highlighted throughout with thick gold overlays that accentuated the fine curves and details of the sculpture. The faces of the statues were etched in golden masks of perfect lines, displaying the feminine yet distinctly feline face of Tefnut and the masculine, all-to-human features of Shu. 

The male deity was missing his trademark feather, but a notch on the back of his head revealed an obvious place to put what was no doubt the real McCoy. The carvings were in identical positions, standing straight and tall, their elbows bent and their hands held out flat forward as though pushing on an invisible door. Their palms had been carefully coated with a layer of an unknown dark gray mineral, almost giving the impression they were wearing gloves. 

The crowning feature though, wasn't any of those things: it was the large blossom of carefully sliced quartz crystals that prevented the two Egyptian gods from ever truly touching. It was roughly the size of a basketball, but more oblong in shape, looking very much like the fried onion entrée at a restaurant… if it was made from the largest onion known to man. 

Layer upon layer of crystal discs were grouped tightly together, constantly overlapping in what was a truly symmetrical pattern. How the crystals were connected was anyone's guess, but the whole contrivance was held in an elaborate gold setting. The setting snaked curiously around the crystal, tracing through natural gaps in the pattern. It culminated in a thick twist at the top center of the crystal which ran up about six inches to meet yet another crystal, this one a solid piece of clear quartz almost the same size as its man-made brother. More of the dark gray mineral from the statue's palms formed a solid ring at the base of the twist before it continued on its golden path. 

The crystals were supported by a thin pedestal of the same black stone that comprised the rest of the statue, however as the idols were decorated with gold, the pedestal was decorated in a glittering weaving of rubies and ice blue sapphires. 

The picture it painted was stunning, bringing back a lost era of royal opulence and artistic grandeur. As an object it was worth millions, maybe not as many as The Viper thought, but millions nevertheless. As a relic though, it was priceless. 

"How do we make it work?" Derek asked, because an expensive object and a priceless relic were nothing compared to something that had the power to save their skins. 

"Well," Nigel mused, "If we're dealing with some sort of piezoelectricity, we'd have to put pressure on the crystal." Nigel stood in front of Shu and reached out to touch the darkened palms. The grayish mineral coating them was rather rough, but not sharp, and it felt fairly strong. It was now obvious what needed to be done; the outstretched hands of the ancient Egyptian gods gave away the secret. "I say we push." 

"Right," Sydney moved to the other side of the statue and placed her hands against Tefnut's, giving an experimental shove. She noticed a well-concealed set of running rails at the base of the statue, however from their short length, they obviously didn't allow much movement. "Push on your side Nigel, let's see what happens." He nodded and obliged and, placing their hands against the hands of the statue, they pushed against it simultaneously. 

And in a great display of drama, nothing budged. 

The relic hunter stepped back and appraised the situation. _Yeah, that would have been too easy. _"I think we're going to need a little more force, and we should try to keep it equal on both sides." _But how to arrange it…_ "Preston, go to the other side and help Nigel, Derek come over here with me, you too Claudia." 

As they moved into position, Nigel placed once again placed his hands against Shu's when something suddenly occurred to him. "Um," he interrupted. "Before we do this, I think we should make sure we keep our hands from touching any part of the statue other than these palms." 

"Why?" Claudia asked. 

"Because if this works, I think we could get electrocuted if we do," he answered. 

"Oh." The secretary now regarded Tefnut warily. 

"Good reason," Derek muttered. "But I know what you're saying Nige, the electricity would travel through anything that would conduct it… So okay! Important safety tip." He placed his hands on the statue and nodded he was ready to give it a try. 

"All right," Sydney put her hands next to his and Claudia moved in beside him, positioning herself in the remaining free space. Across from her, she could see Nigel and Preston were set and realized zero hour had arrived. She remembered Preston's pep talk to Nigel outside the cave… _'If it's really up there, that's one legend we'll have proven true. Who's to say we can't make it two?'_ And now, one legend was down, and one was still to go. "We'll go on three." She sucked in a deep breath and silently prayed. _God, let this work._ "One… Two… Three!" 

As one, the five pushed, and in a fluid motion, the statues began to move. Closer and closer they crept, sliding along their running rails until they both touched the lower crystal. "Keep pushing," Nigel encouraged, "we have to create enough pressure to activate it." 

Only a few scant seconds later they became aware of a change taking place in the crystal as an eerie blue glow suddenly sprang to life around it. "It's working!" Derek sounded both shocked and elated. 

The smell of ozone soon crackled on the air as the pressure continued and the crystal generated more electricity, glowing even brighter. A low hum began to fill the room as the upper crystal reacted to the power it was being exposed to, slowly beginning to resonate. The sound was almost ghostly, steadily increasing in pitch and volume as the supply of power became stronger and more constant. The blue glow of the generating crystal lightened and arcs of electricity leapt between the onion-like layers in a tangle as their current flowed along the golden setting and gave life to the resonator. 

Vibrations echoed through the statue, shivering through the outstretched stone hands of the gods and into the human hands pressed against them. Something about this made keeping pressure on the crystal seem even more urgent, as though they'd somehow be shaken away if they let up. 

Then as though given an invisible nudge, the glow suddenly flared, filling the cavern in a luminous burst of light and becoming so bright it was hard to look at it. Everyone averted their eyes, squinting as they attempted to look anywhere but directly at the crystal. The resonator vibrated even more furiously, humming like a choir of five hundred voices hitting the same note. 

Nigel felt his arms begin to strain and his hands become bruised from pressing so hard against the rough mineral meant to protect him, but he knew he couldn't stop. Whatever Ichriem was going to do, he had a feeling it was about to happen. 

And mere seconds later, it did. 

The light and sound melded together in a swirling crescendo, shooting from the two crystals in a steady, euphonious beam and plowing towards the ceiling. The pale skylight shattered sending a shower of glass raining to the floor, and the beam continued, flowing pure and unabated into the afternoon sky. 

End Part Fifty 

* Piezoelectricy is pronounced "pie-EASE-o-electricity". Piezo comes from the greek word meaning 'press' or 'to press'. 

* The mysterious gray mineral on the palms of the statue and in the gold stem between the two crystals is meant to be a diode. A diode is a semiconductor that allows electric current to flow through it in only one direction. Think of it as a revolving door for electrons. There are several naturally occurring minerals and substances that act as diodes, for example: tellerium, selenium, germanium, silicon, zincite, molybdenite, or various forms of copper oxide. This prevents the electricity created by the statue from flowing back the way it came. 

Learn more about Quartz crystals and Piezoelectricity at the following Finally http://www.bliley.net/XTAL/Industry-Hams.html 


	51. 

**Favoured Friends  
Part 51/51**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by LeiLani ( dawnleilani@yahoo.com )**

Also, I have Support Services. That means that, if you want, you can put me on Author Alert and receive notice when other stories of mine are posted, even if you haven't paid yourself.

There will be an epilogue forthcoming.

Posted: Sunday, February 29, 2004

Sydney could feel the current flowing from her – not through her, but from her and into the incredible piece of ancient engineering. It wasn't a conscious decision on her part, to do or not to do – her mind was drawn along the same finite point, every thought, every focus poured into the stream that flowed like liquid fire against gravity, a fragment of the universe that was its own law of physics. She could see the font of power, and while her intellect labeled it a bit of harnessed lightning, everything else in her screamed that she was missing something with that scientific observation. She was intensely aware of every other person connected to the statue. It was a link of mind and soul and spirit and body that manifested in an experience more intimate than lovemaking.

She instinctively shrank away from the unplanned exposure, sensing that her companions were reacting in the same way. And in that will to separate, the beam disappeared, collapsing in on itself with a deafening clap of thunder. She felt herself flung back onto the rocky floor of the cave, and lay panting, fighting to collect her scattered wits. With the separation, she'd recovered her individuality, but in the aftermath she was suddenly conscious of personal solitude on a whole new level. The withdrawal left her with a significant gap she couldn't identify, an absence more profound than the ache in her body.

She pushed herself up, ignoring the crumbled glass that ground into her palm. Glass was everywhere – between their assault on the statue's casing and the shattered skylight, there wasn't a square centimeter that didn't glitter with the stuff. She stared at her hands, then at her companions, fighting to assign names to the overwhelming sensory feedback.

Blood. There was blood on everyone. Faces faded in and out of her vision, and light pulsed even when she closed her eyes. The statue… Gold… Unimaginable power. And danger. Something tickled at the back of her mind like a thread that threatened to unravel at the slightest provocation.

"Sydney?"

The voice was familiar, coming to her from a distance, its modulated tones and subtle accent a caress that reached out to brace up her psyche. Nigel. Her mind put a name to the face and the voice and she smiled. The ringing in her ears was on the decline, and the fluctuations in her vision were beginning to recede, as well. She opened her mouth, then closed it, still not quite trusting herself to speak.

"Sydney, are you all right?" another voice queried.

The second, dark-haired man was Lloyd, she realized, as she graced him with a smile, too. Her smile faded as she noted the bruises that painted his face and arms. From the way he moved, it didn't take much imagination to know that the damage wasn't limited to visible areas, either.

Kneeling next to her, Nigel repeated, "Syd, can you hear me?" Other than an unnaturally pale hue to his already-light skin, he appeared more or less unhurt. He reached out and caught her hand, hauling her to her feet. With his touch, she yanked her head up. His startled expression mirrored what she felt.

She nodded, finally replying, "I think so." How funny… Her voice sounded more foreign than Nigel's. "What about everyone else?" Her wits were returning and she assigned names to the faces, connecting the dots of memory to place each person in her life.

"I broke a nail!" The indignant screech told Sydney that Claudia was unhurt.

"Oh, forget your bloody nail! Look at this mess! And we still don't know what that damned statue did. There are murderers out there!" So Preston was apparently alive and more or less well, too.

"Are there?" Nigel challenged. He stood ramrod-straight in the center of the rubble, hands on hips, every muscle tensed.

It was the same question running through Sydney's head, rational or not. A part of her wanted to scorn, Don't be ridiculous! You know perfectly well that they're gone! The scientist in her argued the point, her own mind in conflict with itself. Then again, the scientist in her had witnessed plenty that didn't fit the classical definition of rational. "I say we find out."

Lloyd's face was stony. "That stuff – that electricity – it wouldn't be selective. If it was strong enough to kill the Gural Nataz, it would be strong enough to kill my men."

My men? Since when did Lloyd have 'men'? Sydney tucked that little tidbit away for future reference as she picked her way across the floor of the cave. The shattered glass looked like a treasure trove of diamonds in the sunlight, crunching beneath her every step. Thank God for the thick protective soles of their hiking boots!

Sydney was no more than a meter ahead of Nigel. She heard the same crunching sound multiplied as the rest of the crew fell into step behind her. Stepping back out onto the plateau, two spectacular differences sunk in.

One, the entire face of the cliff was cracked and now shearing away, scratching a path through the thick vegetation as it tumbled down the mountainside. Mud and stone were carried along in the flow of ancient glass, until there was a steep, smooth incline, a landslide. And two, there were a lot of excited voices filtering up from below. Men and women pointed up to the mountainside, and a few shouted in their general direction, though the words were unintelligible. Sydney strained to see the Gural Nataz guerrillas. She couldn't see them any more, but that didn't mean they weren't out there, hiding and poised for a strike.

However, Sydney and company now had a new problem.

"Oh shit," Claudia breathed.

Sydney concurred wholeheartedly. While their little entourage was unhurt, their return path was buried beneath countless tons of loose dirt, glass, and stone. "Okay, I think Plan B is in order." Before anyone had a chance to ask, she explained, "Today's Plan B is something besides Plan A. I'm open to suggestions."

"Maybe Ichriem can make us fly?" Preston asked timidly.

Sydney turned just in time to see Nigel throw his arms around his brother and kiss him full on the lips. Preston's expression said he was none to comfortable with his little brother's exhuberant behavior, but Sydney knew a Nigel brainstorm when she saw one.

"That's it!" Nigel crowed. He stomped to the edge of the debris and plucked something from the dirt. Sydney saw a flash of something bright, though it was tucked into his sleeve before she could see what it was. He ran back to the statue and that was when she understood. He slid a feather into the space in the statue representing Shu. "Sydney," he said, his hands already on the dull gray hand portion of Shu's statue. His rendition of Sydney's name was a request and order and tacit explanation wrapped up in one.

Sydney moved in opposite him, clasping the counterpart on Tefnut. There were two subtle differences from their previous attempt, and every instinct in Sydney knew that this was right. Her breath came in short puffs as she stared into the feline and very feminine face before her. Ichriem was symbolic in every way – even male and female. She'd been on Shu's side before, with Nigel on Tefnut's. And the feather… The long plume rose in a sweep of orchid and chartreuse, but it was just as much a part of the equation. It was a key, and the instant her hands clasped Tefnut's outstretched digits, the quill sunk into the gap, finally swallowed up. And as it disappeared, Tefnut's eyes glowed from within, throwing a ruby wash over her skin. Shu's eyes were emerald, casting green over Nigel. Even the hues were perfect opposites.

This time there was no need for heavy pressure on the statues. The slightest touch moved the crystalline bloom. There was no need for verbal communication, either, because the relic hunters were in complete accord and connected by a current that linked mind and soul. The statue exercised a level of control, as well, sending its own messages along the line of power – educating, exhorting, uplifting, and healing.

The world dissolved around them, swirling in a sea of light and color. Unlike before, Sydney had no discomfort and no desire to remove herself from this link. When the connection ended, it was like the ebb of a midsummer's tide. Sydney closed her eyes to warm in the final wave of comfort. When she opened her eyes they weren't in the cave any more. She and Nigel were smiling at each other from the opposite sides of Ichriem, standing on a narrow strip of white sandy beach she envisioned moments earlier.

At first she thought she was dreaming, because the blood and bruises were gone from all of her companions and she no longer ached along every inch of her body. But at the periphery of her vision, she saw men and women swarming out of the woods. One of the men called to Lloyd, asking if he was all right. Lloyd gave the man a dazed look and a wave and a nod.

A lizard ran across her foot and she stared after it, realizing that it wore a red bandanna around its neck, a tiny swath of fabric with a unique design. She recalled the same kerchief, spying it on the neck of one of the Gural Nataz. A shiver ran through her and she stared, first at the mother of all relics, then at the lizard that had been her enemy, then at her friends.

And slowly, she smiled, then laughed. We did it. We have Ichriem!

Sydney reached around and caught Nigel's sleeve, pulling him into a hug. Acting with one mind, they reached for Lloyd, then Preston and Claudia. The group hug was a knot of people tied together by something stronger than any chain. They were friends.

THE END


	52. 

**Favoured Friends**   
**Epilogue**

**Summary: An invitation to the National Egyptology Conference quickly becomes deadly race for the mythic Ichriem against an old rival of Sydney's - the assassin known only as 'the Viper'.**

**Note: This is a round robin originally posted at the Relic Hunter Yahoo Group. Although I'm posting it, I did not write the entire thing. This part was written by Cari Loran (carilorus yahoo com)**

That's it. It's finished.

Posted: Sunday, July 18, 2004

* * *

_Hampstead, England  
Three Days Later_

At the far corner of the yard of the Bailey estate stood a willow tree, large and ancient, that Nigel always liked to call his own. While not the only tree there, it was the most domineering feature in the sprawling lawn, a good fifty feet tall with vast, drooping lower limbs and a thick canopy of leaves that provided shade during even the hottest hours of the brightest summer day.

He'd spent many hours both up in the tree and beneath it as a boy, sometimes swinging from the dangling branches, sometimes reading, or sometimes just thinking… A _lot_ of thinking. In fact, he'd gravitated to the tree so often to clear his mind, his father jokingly dubbed it "The Thinking Tree."

So it was somehow providence that he now lay sprawled out on a wrought iron bench under the shade of the welcoming old tree, staring up into the leaves and at the blue sky beyond. The day was soft and quiet, just as he always remembered the days in the backyard, and the air carried the lightly sweet scent of a vast flower garden growing no more than twenty feet away.

He closed his eyes and listened to the songbirds high in the top of the tree. They'd start heading south for the winter soon. True, it was scarcely September, and technically wasn't even autumn yet, but in another month the colorful birds of spring and summer would be gone. Nigel opened his eyes, focusing on a yellow warbler as it merrily hopped between the thick branches, singing its namesake song at the top of its voice. He wondered if it was as happy as it seemed to be, or if birds, like people, put on a brave face when they were down.

It had been three days now since they'd left the forsaken island of Mer de Teuer. Three days since he'd stepped on board a helicopter and felt the last of that gritty, volcanic sand underfoot. Three days… and he couldn't decide if it felt more like three minutes or three years.

They'd returned to England only a day and half ago and he'd spent most of his first day back sleeping. In fact, he'd slept for sixteen hours straight: the kind of deep, dreamless, nearly comatose slumber that rigidly defied interruption of any form. Yet when he'd finally awoken and crawled out of bed, it hadn't been with the feeling of refreshed, well-rested contentment that usually sprang forth from so much sleep.

Instead of being invigorated, he'd felt drained and somehow… _empty_ in a way he really couldn't describe. It was as if someone had knocked him over and dumped everything out of him, then propped him back up without replacing it, leaving him standing in the scattered remnants and desperately trying to remember where they went.

With little enthusiasm, he'd eventually made it downstairs, at first thinking no one was home. The house initially had the quiet, soundless feeling of a library at closing time, but he soon found signs of life, locating his brother and Sydney in the study, laboriously pouring over… something. Whatever it was looked suspiciously like old manuscript pages, but he hadn't gotten close enough to see for himself because the two of them quickly abandoned what they were doing and transferred their scrutiny to him.

He was hustled off to the kitchen, and while he'd attempted to choke down a small breakfast he really didn't have an appetite for, the two of them sat with him and filled him in on what he'd missed while he'd been asleep. Sydney gave him a few disapproving looks at the way he barely nibbled on his food, but didn't mention it, instead telling him Claudia had gone into London to run some errands. Nigel mentally translated "running errands" into "buying clothes" after having listened to the secretary bemoan her fashion impaired state ever since they'd flown out of Morocco. He doubted she'd return from town with anything less than a new fall wardrobe.

It was what Sydney revealed next that really snagged Nigel's attention: the fact Derek Lloyd would be stopping by that afternoon.

They'd parted ways with the agent just after leaving Mer de Teuer. Once their helicopter set down again in Morocco, Lloyd had been swept up by other responsibilities clamoring for his attention…his taskforce had captured several members of the Gurel Nataz at Sid Ifni, and they were apparently quite talkative. So the agent had been hustled away, and they hadn't seen him again until just before they left for England, at which time he told them he was learning "a hell of a lot" about the situation and would keep them posted.

Now, whatever Derek had learned after the dust finally settled, he was keeping his promise to share.

And Nigel had to admit he couldn't wait to hear it.

He finally escaped the kitchen having only finished a piece of jellied toast and some orange juice, and wandered aimlessly around the house, eventually ending up back in the study. The manuscript pages were still scattered all over the room, covering the two desks, a small table, and a dark leather couch… therefore it hadn't taken long for his curiosity to get the better of him.

The pages were the color of varnished white pine and were soft and time worn around the edges, not stiff and brittle as some old documents became. Ornate writing etched across the surface in quill-stroked Latin, every word nearly a work of art in itself. A light lattice of design traced the left margin, nothing very elaborate, just a few woven squiggles, almost as if the author couldn't stand the thought of having only words on the paper.

Nigel realized he hadn't picked the first page in the series to start with, merely the closest one at hand, which was apparently from somewhere in the middle. Still, once he started translating and recognized what he was reading, the natural urge to hunt down the first page was squashed by the more overpowering desire to read more of what he already had.

Because what he had was an account of a 1496 Spanish expedition to find Ichriem.

Nigel was careful not to touch the pages, not wanting to spoil their condition. He knew the museum was likely their source… his brother hadn't just casually found the ancient tale tucked away in the bookshelves of their father's study. Moments later he received the answer to his question as Preston wandered in the room. The elder Bailey seemed pleased to find him there, quickly confirming his guess and telling him the manuscripts had been obtained by the museum just two months ago and he'd borrowed them for a few days.

"I spoke to the curator this morning and asked him about Dr. Reynold," Preston explained. "He told me he'd talked to him about a month ago. Apparently he'd heard the museum acquired these papers and wanted to make arrangements to see them."

"Did he?" Nigel wondered. He'd never met the now infamous Dr. Reynold, and if what everyone feared was true, he never would. No one had spoken of the old Egyptologist in the last few days, and in Nigel's mind, the man had evolved as a tragic figure… a person on the verge of realizing his life's ambition only to have it snatched away at the last hour.

Preston shook his head. "No. He was still digging in Egypt at the time, it must have been before he found the tablet that led him to Morocco."

"Bloody bad timing," Nigel muttered, his tone sharper and more caustic than he intended. He'd turned away from his brother and stared intently at the old manuscripts to cut off any further comments. Preston took the hint and moved to the other side of the room to stare at some of the pages on another desk. The two silently stayed that way for quite a while before Sydney unobtrusively joined them and all three became lost in the translations.

Overall the pages told a rich tale, filled with every fortune, both good and bad, that befell the expedition. The author was identified as a monk named Alfonzes, assigned to the ill-fated quest as a scribe, and he spared no detail as he recounted his story. It seemed King Ferdinand II of Spain, having success with Columbus, decided to back another expedition, one to find the fabled Egyptian statue and bring even greater glory to his country. Alfonzes implied the king's advisors had warned him against it, being skeptical of the statue's existence, but the king decided to take the gamble.

Eventually, the group reached Egypt and started an excavation somewhere outside of Minya on the solemn word of their guide. The whole thing had of course, been a failure. No Ichriem was found, but luckily they managed to excavate a cache of gold jewelry to take back to Spain. Ferdinand presented the meager treasure to his queen and declared the expedition a success.

Nigel nearly laughed: political spin was timeless.

It was comfortable as they each studied the scrolls, occasionally breaking the silence to comment about the story. Things would have suited Nigel fine if they'd stayed that way… the whole situation struck him as so _normal_, it was a welcome diversion. But like all happy diversions, it didn't last.

As it got closer and closer to noon, the subject of lunch reared its head and refused to go away. Preston offered him anything he'd wanted to eat, but the problem was, he hadn't _wanted_ to eat anything… just as he hadn't wanted anything the day before. His brother was content to let him off the hook with: "Just as long as you have something else today." Sydney, on the other hand, found his flat denial of lunch a little more unacceptable. He could still hear her as the argument escalated:

"You need to eat something Nigel."

"I ate breakfast."

"You ate a **_piece_** of toast."

"That's food."

"That's toast!" she argued vehemently, not in the least placated. "You're going to have to start eating real food if you want to get over this and get your strength back!"

He'd stiffened at the comment, standing ramrod straight and as rigid as a metal beam. **_If_**_ I want to get over this?_ His eyes narrowed, glaring at her without disguise as his pent-up frustrations suddenly lathered to the surface in an overdue eruption. "_If_ I want to get over this?" he echoed, his tone somewhat deadly, causing her to wince as she realized her poor choice of words. "What do you want from me Sydney?" His glare darkened. "The impossible? You might as well push me off the roof and tell me to fly."

She'd been taken aback. "I'm not asking you to fly."

"No," Nigel shook his head, the flare of anger he'd been fanning into a flame suddenly vanished from his voice, leaving it almost blank. "You're not, are you?" He'd given her a long, curious look along with his cryptic comment. "You're telling me." And with that, he felt the pressing, almost claustrophobic need to get away from the conversation. The discussion was one he didn't want and wished had never been started.

"I'm only trying to help." She was clearly getting exasperated.

Nigel didn't answer, only stepped away from the manuscript-ridden desk.

It was too much, the whole thing.

He knew she was just worried about him, but he wasn't in the mood to be coddled like a mistreated puppy. Until he found his own way to deal with his problems, he didn't want anyone else trying to tell him how he should feel or what he should do. "I think I need to be alone for a little while," he muttered instead, then looked to his brother, avoiding all eye contact with Sydney. "You know where I'll be Preston… just let me know when Derek gets here."

His brother looked momentarily puzzled, then nodded with a look of realization. "I will."

"Nigel?" Sydney called after him in concern as he walked out of the room, but he didn't stop, and he could hear Preston tell her to 'let him alone for awhile'.

That had been nearly an hour ago.

Which brought Nigel to where he was now, lying on the warm metal bench, content to stare up into the tree as his mind sifted through recent events.

The words spoken in the study still came back to him, and a part of him was still annoyed at Sydney. He was well aware he'd lost weight, he'd weighed himself that morning after crawling out of bed and seen the missing full stone, or 14 pounds, glowing back at him on the digital scale. Still, no matter how much he knew he _should_ eat, his appetite was taking its time returning and he had no control over the pace. For all he knew he might become ravenous any second and want a seven-course meal, but until then, he'd have to take things as they came.

Ichriem hadn't been a universal cure-all.

The statue had infused them all with feelings of strength, warmth, understanding, and well-being … feelings so intense and focused, they'd lingered vividly for hours. And in those short hours, life had never seemed so pure and beautiful, so untouched by the jaded perceptions that build up in the mind's eye over time.

Then, bit by bit, the ethereal sensations faded away, leaving behind only a dim sparkle in the far corner of his mind. It was a horrid tease, to have been shown a glimpse of how the world might be if it were perfect, but surprisingly, the loss of the vision hadn't left him bitter. He felt no resentment, and no animosity as the rose-tinted view of existence retreated into memory: a place it would live for the rest of his life.

The statue had helped them in a dark time, it made it seem like their suffering had been rewarded… their physical injuries had been healed, and their glimpse into its power left them all with an awing sense of wonder. Yet as amazing as it had been, he had no desire to ever activate Ichriem again and relive it.

Only a fool would twice risk peering into such an entrancing and dangerous abyss.

Still, for all the magical things Ichriem did, it hadn't given him back his lost weight, and now the extended stress and lack of nutrients left him feeling tired and listless. So while he'd been moping around with the energy of a slug the last couple of days, trying to conjure up enough willpower to choke down toast, everyone else had been riding a high wave of get-up-and-go. It made him feel somewhat left behind... and was probably why Sydney wanted him to speed up his healing process so badly.

But in truth, his eating problem was only one part of his rather downhearted behavior. The other part stemmed from something else Ichriem hadn't been able to help him with: the memory of his kidnapping.

He sighed, irritated with his line of thought, and shifted position slightly. The iron bench wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world; it wasn't long enough to truly stretch out on, so he'd had to improvise, propping one leg up on the armrest while letting the other dangle over the side. He would have given it up all together and taken to the lawn, but didn't want to risk grass stains all over his new clothes. Of course, once he regained his weight, the slacks likely wouldn't fit anymore anyway, but he felt obligated to keep them nice for the time being.

Resigned to his situation, he vowed not to return indoors before Lloyd arrived. There was nothing in the house he wanted right now… not food, not books or television, and not company. Sydney practically radiated guilt whenever he'd looked her in the eye, and Preston was tiptoeing around as if afraid he'd suddenly shatter into a million pieces.

Nigel just wanted things to be normal. He didn't want to constantly feel like he'd just been pulled through a keyhole. He didn't want to get into arguments about why he was only eating toast. He didn't want to see the sympathetic glances and hear the quote-unquote, 'helpful advice'. In short, he just didn't have the energy to put up with everyone's good intentions.

He cursed his thoughts again, reminding himself to stop thinking about things he was trying to forget. Dwelling on the past didn't change it, and worrying about present situations he couldn't control was pointless. But maybe that was what bothered him the most: the sheer lack of control he'd had lately over his own destiny. The last word echoed in his mind for a moment, somewhat caustic in its tone. _Destiny_, fate … Just what had his been? It certainly hadn't been to idly sit in a New York lecture hall with Sydney and listen to the illustrious Dr. Kauffman tout his thesis platform.

Nigel nearly laughed out loud, and if he had, it would have been a self-deprecating sound. To top everything off was the ultimate irony: he hadn't even _wanted_ to go to the Egyptology conference.

Yet his journey had started with the opening of that Pandora's box. Not for the first time he wondered what would have happened if he'd refused Sydney's invitation, if he'd stayed home gearing up for the start of the semester like he'd planned rather than following along to New York. But like all the other times he'd thought about it, he met with only one answer: Things could have been much worse. He didn't reach the conclusion out of any attempt to be pessimistic, but rather, the opposite. It was optimism that led him to believe no matter how horrible it had been, the best outcome had in fact, come to pass.

He may have been to hell and back, but he'd _made_ it back, alive and well, as had Sydney, Preston, Derek, and Claudia. Ichriem had been found. Those were the facts he knew… he didn't know what _might_ have been. He knew The Viper hadn't just _happened_ to be at the conference. The mercenary had been tracking Ichriem in advance, possibly for weeks before he made his move against Sydney in the hotel lobby. Nigel didn't know what would have happened if he hadn't been with her… he didn't know if The Viper still would have stabbed her, or would have perhaps, taken her prisoner instead.

There were too many variables, too many_ "maybes" _and"_might haves_" and _"could haves"_ to even start speculating on the entire scope of the matter. He realized that even if he'd stayed home, there was a good chance he wouldn't have escaped anything. The Viper had known about him, and not just his name or the fact he worked with Sydney… he'd had very personal information at his disposal, for instance, knowing about Preston's trust fund. Unless his brother publicly released his financial records, it would be hard for anyone to casually stumble across the fact he was over eleven million dollars richer since April.

With The Viper busy shadowing Dr. Reynold in Egypt-- he'd likely learned Reynold was trying to get word to Sydney and probably saw it as the perfect opportunity. What was it he'd said on the plane? Nigel thought for a moment before recalling the mercenary's words: _It's cold out there my boy, and it's kill or be killed. Fox may be your friend, but she's my rival. She proved she was a danger the day she cost me the prayer book, and Ichriem is too big a prize to risk losing._ The Viper had been many things, but inept wasn't one of them… he'd no doubt been keeping tabs on Sydney ever since the prayer book incident, and through her, anyone she closely associated with.

Nigel clearly saw he'd been little more than a puppet— kidnapped as a three-pronged tool to help find Ichriem, torment Sydney, and rob his brother of his inheritance. That knowledge wasn't something that made him feel particularly good about himself, but he was mildly comforted two of the three reasons had never come to pass. After all, Preston still had his fortune, and The Viper had met his fate before even setting eyes on Ichriem… but the third reason had still been fulfilled, and it hadn't just tormented Sydney.

If there was one thing Nigel never wanted, it was to cause someone pain or grief or disappointment. As a boy, one lowly spoken _"I'm disappointed in you"_ from his parents was a more damning punishment than any angry lecture. Emotions were powerful weapons, and guilt had always been the most poisonous to Nigel, not only feeling it, but seeing it reflected in others. And he saw that reflection in Sydney's eyes. It was something he didn't want to see, something he'd already tried to absolve but obviously hadn't been very successful in the attempt.

Unfortunately, things like that never seemed to happen in the quickest ways.

He shifted again on the lawn-seat, but found unless the thing suddenly morphed into a couch, there was just no comfortable position to be had by squirming around on it. Still, that didn't stop him from trying…and ultimately… failing.

Moments later, he was shocked as his bottom hit the ground and he found himself splayed in an undignified manner on the grass, staring dumbly up at the bench and slowly realizing he'd wiggled around so much, he'd lost his balance and tumbled right off the edge.

Time seemed to freeze. _I fell off!_ A certain creeping sense of mortification started to edge over him, and he glanced around frantically, making sure no one had seen. _I fell off a bench in my own bloody garden! I fell… _And while the thought echoed in his head, it took a more wry tone: _I fell off a bench my own garden_… and like a balloon slowly inflating, the idea struck him as being more and more hilarious. The harder he tried to deny it, the funnier it became until, before he knew it, he was laughing out loud.

All thoughts of ruining his new clothes were forgotten as his previous melancholy rippled and melted away. The grass was soft and cool beneath him and he leaned back, resting his head against it and staring into the sky again, laughing in genuine mirth at where fate had ultimately landed him… right in his own backyard, a place where falling off a bench was his biggest problem.

Up in the treetop, the yellow warbler hopped out of sight behind a distant limb, but it could still be heard singing.

* * *

Sydney abandoned her study of the ancient manuscript after Nigel's departure, no longer feeling like mulling over the translation, and now stood before a large picture window facing the front of the estate. But while her gaze was locked on an ornate fountain just beyond the curve of driveway, the contemplative look in her eyes betrayed she wasn't really looking at anything. 

She didn't know where Nigel had disappeared to, and while Preston obviously did, he hadn't volunteered the information. She'd been tempted to hunt for him, to just stalk through the whole house and search every inch of the outlying grounds, but realized that wouldn't accomplish anything helpful. Nigel wanted to be alone, and after what she'd said to him, she couldn't blame him.

Between them, they'd developed a tactic of downplaying their misadventures, rarely letting the other know how truly scared or worried they were in any given situation. And after their emotional reunion in Algeria, which had been a much needed exception to the rule, they'd reverted to their usual "I'm okay-You're-okay" philosophy and pushed everything else aside. Now though, she could see she'd tried pushing normalcy too far.

Behind her, she was aware of Preston entering the room, and moments later he was standing beside her. "Lloyd called again, he's on his way now."

She nodded in response, glad for the distraction. "Did you call Claudia?"

"Yes." Preston had loaned the secretary his cell phone to ensure she wouldn't miss the appointment. "Apparently she was already on her way back, she should be here… shortly."

She turned from the window to look at him, somewhat amused by the leery emphasis he'd placed on the word _' shortly'_. She could well imagine what thought was running through his mind, for in addition to the cell phone, he'd also let Claudia borrow his pristine Jaguar, and she'd seen the wince on his face when the secretary revved the engine and peeled recklessly out of the driveway. "Did Derek say anything else?"

He shook his head. "Only that he'd be here within the next half-hour."

Sydney nodded again and turned away as a heavy silence stretched between them. Finally Preston moved forward, leaning against the wall just inches from the spotless glass window. Sunlight filtered through his curly brown hair, giving it a rather golden glow. He leveled his gaze at the relic hunter. When he spoke, his voice was quiet but firm. "I hope you're not blaming yourself for anything you shouldn't be."

She jerked at the words as if physically slapped, staring at him with a sudden intensity. "Like what?"

"Like nearly everything."

The reply wasn't what she expected, taking some of the wind out of the urge to start defending her right to take blame. Still, she had caught one thing in the answer to pick on, something he seemed to have said deliberately. "_Nearly_ everything?" she echoed.

Preston casually crossed his arms over his chest. "Yes. _Nearly_." Perhaps in the past he would have been reluctant to speak what he was about to say, but recent events had solidified something within him. He gauged her reaction and continued. "I'm not going to lie and say you haven't made any mistakes… and I'm not going to offer you any absolutions if you think you don't deserve them."

Wary apprehension seeped into Sydney's eyes. "And what about you? Do you think I deserve them?"

He cocked his head slightly to the side. "I don't think it's my absolution you want."

She exhaled and looked away from him for a moment, then shook her head. "Then how about your advice?" she queried. He'd hit the heart of the matter, and while she did wonder just what he considered her mistakes, she decided she didn't really want to add that burden to her knowledge.

Preston uncrossed his arms and put his hands in his pockets. If advice was what she wanted, he had plenty to give. "I think you should stop making things into more than what they are. Nigel doesn't hate you, and I doubt he blames you for anything he won't forgive… _but_…" he paused, hoping his words were sinking in. "He's frustrated right now, and when he gets that way he gets defensive and tends to lash out. You were just unlucky enough to set him off."

She shook her head. "Maybe so, but he was right."

"And if he was?" Preston sounded fairly nonchalant. "Would it be so horrible?

Her mouth dropped open slightly. "What?"

"If you were wrong."

Various retorts automatically sprang to the relic hunter's mind before she realized Preston had been leading her along with breadcrumbs and she'd fallen neatly into his trap. The man was more clever than she would have ever imagined. Her opinion of him went up a notch… it wasn't everyday someone got her to admit she was okay with being wrong.

Preston offered her a tight smile, seeing the answer clearly in her eyes. "I think you should go talk to him now."

* * *

Talk to him.

The words echoed in Sydney's mind as she walked through the vibrantly lush backyard towards the willow tree. If anyone were to question why her steps were slower than her usual pace, she could always blame it on admiration of the scenery rather than the hesitance she felt at the impending conversation. The yard was after all, undeniably beautiful, spreading back a good four acres, every inch landscaped to picture perfection. It was easy to see why Nigel had chosen it as a retreat.

Her hesitancy only increased the closer she came to the tree. She couldn't walk towards it indefinitely… eventually she'd reach it, and with that she'd have to confront Nigel with more than her trivial observations about grass and flowers.

Yet, before she knew it, and perhaps a little too soon, she arrived at her destination and was forced to table her wary thoughts. At first she saw no sign of Nigel, he wasn't sitting on either of the benches in her line of sight, and he didn't seem to be in the tree itself. She was gearing up to call his name and lure him from his hiding place when her searching glance drifted downward and she caught a flash of dark red material. Recognizing his shirt, she stepped closer, furrowing her brow in the fear something was wrong, but then quickly relaxing when she realized he was lying there by choice, not collapse.

She felt a smile touch her face at the image he presented. He was lying flat, but his knees were bent and his hands were on his forehead, forming a visor of sorts and shielding his closed eyes from the sun. Had she not known how old he was, she suddenly would have pegged him at no more than sixteen. His features were free of worry, in fact, he looked more at ease than she'd seen him in a long time, even before their ill-fated trip to New York. If he knew she was there, or if he cared, he gave no indication.

Finally she took a deep breath. "Mind if I join you?"

The hands guarding his face moved slightly and he opened his eyes a crack to regard her. There was no surprise evident in his motions. "If you'd like," he answered, and moved to get up, but Sydney stopped his progress by coming closer and promptly sitting at his side. She then leaned back on the grass, mimicking his position. He turned his head and glanced at her a moment before returning to his previous state and shielding his eyes again with his hands.

They remained that way in silence for several moments. Sydney couldn't remember the last time she'd lain on the ground just for the sake of it, usually the ground was her enemy or her protector, often being forced to slither along it trying to either escape or sneak up on someone who'd interfered with one of her hunts. It had been a long time since she'd found a welcoming patch of soft grass and just lounged on it, staring up at the clouds the way she'd often done as a child. Of course, the sky above her now was thousands of miles from the one she'd grown up under but it held all the same qualities.

Her nostalgia filled her with a determined sense of hope and she finally found her voice, deciding to broach something innocuous. "Nice view."

"I've always thought so." Nigel agreed, his own voice quiet, as if not wanting to shatter the natural sounds of the garden.

When he said nothing more she chewed her lip thoughtfully and changed tactics, hoping she'd eventually be able to get more than four words from him. "Lloyd's on his way."

"Hmm," he mumbled, but didn't alter his position an inch, not even a twitch. Sydney began to fear the lines of discussion had degraded even farther, reduced to mere wordless acknowledgments. But then the hand at his eyes shifted again and he turned his head towards her. "So what do you think they did with it?"

A relief swept through her she'd hardly known she was holding. Not only was it more than four words, but the tone of the question was plain, not marred or hidden behind resentment or animosity. He was willing to talk, and there was no doubt what the "**it**" was he wanted to talk about.

She could do nothing but answer him honestly. "I don't know."

The fate of Ichriem had been heavy in the back of everyone's minds, yet they'd scarcely spoken of it since leaving Sid Ifni. Of course she'd given Derek more than an earful of opinions on what should be done with the statue, as had Preston and Nigel, but in the end, the decision was out of their hands. Sydney may have been respected and revered in the world of ancient relics, but her clout and connections weren't enough to grant her any ultimate dominion in the matter. In the end she'd had little choice but to put her faith in Derek and trust somehow the agent would make the right thing happen, just as he'd protected the alchemist's secret from their first adventure.

"Neither do I." Nigel replied, then fell silent again for a brief moment. "We've found a lot of relics Sydney, and I know you probably found a hundred others before we ever met… But have you ever… well, _regretted_ finding any of them?"

She smiled somewhat sadly at him. The question was one she'd pondered many times herself. "If I've regretted finding one, it usually means I never should have gone looking for it in the first place. You have to pick your battles Nigel. You always have to ask yourself how much you want something and how much you're willing to sacrifice for it. Sometimes going after a relic might be a mistake, but if you find it, it's hard to regret." It wasn't hard to guess what was on Nigel's mind. "Do _you _regret finding Ichriem?"

He stared up at the sky, as if trying to discern something from the drifting clouds. "I don't know. I mean, don't get me wrong, it was incredible to find it," his voice almost seemed to glow at the recollection. "To know something so fantastically complex was built over three thousand years ago, it's almost impossible to comprehend… if I hadn't seen it, I never would have believed it. I still don't understand what happened out there." Then his tone changed, becoming much more serious, tinged with confusion. "I've thought about it over and over… they were _men_ Sydney, and suddenly, they _weren't_."

The image of those exotic lizards scuttling in confusion through the ruins of the cave was still vivid in his mind. The implications of what apparently befell the platoon of Gurel Nataz hadn't been lost on him.

He shook his head and continued. "We both know there's nothing in the world that could have done that…well, until now I mean. Toss in the fact we basically teleported from that cave back down to the beach…" He sucked in a deep breath, realizing he was starting to ramble and drift from the question at hand. "I don't think I regret finding it as much as I worry I'd regret it later if it ever fell into the wrong hands."

Sydney couldn't argue with his words, as what he said reflected her own feelings. Ichriem was a raw and unknown power, hidden from the world for three millennia and she'd been one of five to not only find it, but to activate its strength. They'd felt its power firsthand, it had tingled through their fingertips and touched their minds with a warmth and light that was beyond most people's comprehension. She reached out and placed her hand on Nigel's wrist, causing his eyes to divert from the sky and look back at her. "We just have to hope that never happens." She lightly squeezed his arm. "Don't worry about a regret you may never have."

Nigel met her gaze with a light smile then turned back to looking up, an activity he pursued for roughly ten seconds before turning back to her. "I'm sorry I lost my temper."

The relic hunter immediately shook her head, squeezing his arm again. She'd been waiting for the right moment to broach the subject and apologize to him, but never suspected he'd attempt it first. "No Nigel. You were right." Noting the startled look on his face she continued, feeling somewhat like a repentant sinner sitting in a confessional. "I wasn't fair to you." She wasn't sure how to continue. She'd never been very good at making complicated apologies, and was even worse at discussing or admitting her own shortcomings. "I let my stress catch up to me and I took it out on your problem before I'd even realized it… you didn't deserve it." She paused and filled her last two words with every drop of sincerity she'd ever held. "I'm sorry."

He tilted his head slightly. True, he'd been expecting her to say something, but somehow thinking about something never compared to actually having it happen. In the time he'd known her Sydney rarely uttered and sincerely meant the words _'I'm sorry'_, usually just tossing the words out by route to cut off any complaints. Genuine mistakes were usually glossed over with the lesser _'Maybe that wasn't a good idea'_. He realized the feelings of guilt she was likely struggling with, not over the minor incident in the study, but with their entire chase around the world. There was little doubt what comprised the mysterious "stress" she suffered from. He suddenly saw she wasn't just apologizing to him for what had happened in the house, she was expressing the grief she felt for everything… For taking him to the conference, for exposing him to The Viper, for his kidnapping, and for every pain and indignity he'd suffered.

"It's all right Sydney," he met her eyes and favored her with a reassuring smile. "After all, _'Aequum est peccatis veniam poscentem reddere rursus.'_" ('It is right for him who asks forgiveness for his offenses to grant it to others.') He watched her reaction to the old quotation, and seeing a look of relief steal over her features, he suddenly chuckled, breaking whatever tension was left in the moment. "We're a sorry lot aren't we?"

"Pathetic," she agreed, managing a smile of her own. "I wonder what Horace would say about that?"

Nigel thought for a moment then sat up, feeling a head rush with the movement as the world became vertical once more. At his side Sydney followed his motions and he turned back to her. "'The harder you fall, the higher you bounce'," he quipped, then turned a little more serious. "_'Vestigia nulla retrorsum'_ Sydney." (No steps backward) He stood, then reached down and offered her a hand up.

She looked at him a moment, seeing a spark of the bright inner strength she'd come to so deeply respect in him, then grasped his hand and let him pull her to her feet. As she stood, the lingering doubts Nigel would be able to overcome his harrowing experience began to recede from her mind. While he may been less than half-serious with his quote, she knew it never held more truth than in his case. He would bounce back, higher than ever. "_Vestigia nulla retrorsum_ Nigel."

* * *

Derek Lloyd arrived fifteen minutes after Sydney and Nigel returned to the house. Claudia managed to beat him by no more than five minutes, roaring into the driveway with enough noise to send Preston rushing out the front door muttering dire prophesies about finding dings in his fenders. 

So it was the five of them were reunited, looking wildly different from the last time they'd been together… Namely this time no one looked like a beleaguered refugee from a disaster movie. Gone were the haggard expressions, the winces of pain, and the weary gestures that had punctuated the latter half of their journey. Hair was combed, clothes were neat and clean, and everyone smelled of soap and cologne rather than blood, sweat, and dirt. Anyone peeping in the parlor window who caught a glimpse of them would be hard pressed to guess where they'd been and what they'd done just a few days earlier.

Derek settled back in his seat, having already exchanged pleasantries with everyone and suggestively teased Sydney about the way their paths always crossed. A tall glass of cold lemonade was in his hand and he couldn't help but eye a large platter of chocolate cookies sitting within arm's length. So far no one had taken any of them, but he held no qualms about being the first. He'd been in constant motion for so long, he'd scarcely had time to snatch more than a sandwich for any given meal in the last three days. Granted, it would probably be rude to grab the tray, set it on his lap, and scarf every last cookie on it… yes it would be rude to do such a thing… which made it fortunate he was a spy, trained in subterfuge. "Hey," he nonchalantly reached over to the silver platter and snagged a cookie. "Cookies."

"Help yourself." Preston encouraged, firm in the role of host.

Derek bit into the treat, hiding a knowing smile… _Ah, the magic words_. And with his cookie domination insured he took a sip of his drink, incredibly glad it was a tall glass of lemonade and not one of those warm little teacups that seemed to be a staple in British parlors. He sobered somewhat as the thought occurred to him, remembering the last time he'd had warm tea had been in that very same parlor, and it hadn't been a happy occasion. It seemed as though he'd come full circle, starting with sorrow and ending with reunion. "So," he started, deciding to get the show on the road. "Who wants to ask something first?" He nearly laughed as they all stared at each other with a deer-in-the-headlights look trying to decide what to ask and who should ask it.

"Well," Sydney leaned forward in her chair. "I think the first thing we all want to know is _what_ happened to Ichriem."

"Yeah," Derek nodded. "I kinda figured you'd ask that one first." He took a deep breath. "All right, here's the deal," he exhaled. "What happened on Mer de Tueur is considered _highly_ classified." He reached for his briefcase and popped it open, extracting a blue folder. Opening the folder, he produced several pieces of paper and passed them around the room.

"What's this?" Claudia asked, curiously skimming over the first few words.

"It's an agreement of confidentiality," Derek answered. "I'm going to need you all to sign it before I leave. It basically says that you agree not to tell anyone what happened on that island." He studied everyone's expressions. "I would've had you sign it before you left Morocco, but my superiors hadn't decided on a classification for it yet and I didn't have the paperwork. Typical red tape. So I'm trusting none of you have told anyone about this since you got here."

"As if anyone would believe us." Nigel ventured, still perusing the agreement.

"Yeah," Derek agreed. "I think the sci-fi factor alone would just make anyone think you were all nuts."

"So what does this mean?" Sydney looked up, furrowing her brow as a sense of professional ire started to build. "We're never going to be allowed to tell anyone about this? Not even that the statue was discovered or even existed at all?" Without waiting for an answer she carried on. "Doctor Reynold gave his life to prove this legend was real!"

Lloyd smirked. He loved what he was about to say. "I think he might disagree with you."

"_What?_" she blurted, fervently glad she hadn't had anything in her mouth or she would have choked.

"You mean he's _alive_??" Nigel likewise couldn't hide his disbelief.

"And kicking," Derek nodded. "We tracked him down in Cairo, not in the best of shape though, he'd been in a clinic there with a couple of broken ribs…one of them pierced his lung and it filled with fluid, so he had a hell of an infection for a while. He was unconscious for nearly a week but finally healed up enough to leave the clinic two days ago."

Sydney was stunned, having thought her old colleague long dead. "How did you find him?"

He laughed shortly. "It actually wasn't very hard. Remember the note he sent you with the model Syd?" At her nod he continued. "The clue was right there, we just never got a chance to check it out when we were in Cairo."

At first Sydney wasn't sure what he meant, not recalling the exact words of the note, then it came to her and she almost felt like groaning. "The man who owned the restaurant." They'd gone to Cairo looking for clues, but after meeting Amarja and being directed to Mer de Teuer, the need to stay in Egypt had passed and they'd never checked the restaurant Artie had directed them to in his note.

"Right," Lloyd confirmed. "_El Kadid's. _Turns out it's owned by a Belgian named Gaston Dulaque… he and Reynold have been buddies for about twenty years. Anyway, I decided to follow up on the tip and see if the guy knew anything, and he knew a lot. Apparently whenever Reynold is working around Cairo, he keeps this guy's name in his wallet as an emergency contact, so when he turned up at the clinic, the doctor found the name and number and called him."

"He still had his wallet?" Preston sounded incredulous.

"Yeah, I guess The Viper wasn't into picking pockets," Derek shrugged. "Reynold doesn't know how he got to the clinic, and the doctor's couldn't tell him anything either, they just found him lying at the front door."

"Unbelievable" Sydney murmured. "Where is he now?"

"He's still in Cairo. I tried to get him to come here with me, but his kid just got out the hospital yesterday, and neither one of them is really feeling up to traveling yet."

Sydney suddenly had the feeling a permanent question mark would soon start hovering over her head. "Wait a minute, his _kid_?" She hadn't been aware Artie had any children, much less any who'd been in Egypt.

"His son, Edmund." Derek took another sip of his drink. "He was working with him on the dig. None of you got the chance to meet him, but you did get to see his picture."

He saw a spark of understanding immediately flare in Sydney's eyes, followed only shortly by everyone else… well, everyone but Nigel, who'd never seen the photo. The younger Bailey looked around with a curious expression, almost as if expecting to see the tell-tell picture floating in the middle of the room.

Lloyd decided to save him some trouble. "Relax Nige, you didn't miss anything except a lot of confusion. Amarja had a picture that was taken of her and Reynold and a couple of other guys. It turns out Edmund was in the picture, but we never knew it because she lied about who he was and told us his name was Davis Campbell." He saw Nigel's eyes widen and he continued. "I guess she figured if she told us he was Reynold's son that we'd want to hunt him up rather than run off with her."

"She would've been right," Sydney muttered. But she wasn't sure it would have changed anything… in the end they still would have set out towards the island, following the clues Derek managed to scrounge up about the path of The Viper.

"Yeah, well," the agent continued, "apparently the story she told about him being in the hospital in Cairo was more or less true, even if she did lie about his name. He _was_ kidnapped by The Viper, but it didn't happen the way Amarja told it, she mixed two stories together. Ed wasn't the one who got run off the road and vanished without a trace, that turned out to be Rajiv, the joker in that picture she claimed was her fiancée… or as we got to know him in Morocco: Davis Campbell. And he wasn't run off the road, he set the whole thing up."

"So who was he?" Claudia asked, sounding a little confused.

Derek sighed. "We don't know his real name. Interpol's still checking. He'd been passing himself off as Campbell around the dig site, so that's who Reynold thought he was. He'd only been working there about a month before his so-called "_disappearance."_ He and Amarja obviously knew each other well… that was the reason Reynold agreed to hire him in the first place, because she told him he was her fiancée." He shook his head. "I don't think it takes much of a stretch of imagination to see how the two of them set us up. Rajiv had been tailing The Viper and when he decided to rent that plane, he set himself up as the pilot. He knew as long as he stuck with The Viper and Nigel, eventually Amarja would lead the rest of you to him."

"And that's just what happened." Claudia frowned, recalling how she and the other woman had worked on finding transportation out of that hellhole in Algeria. "You know I _thought_ there was something weird about the way she just managed to _find_ us all seats on a private plane… In the middle of **no**where no less, that just _happened_ to be going where we wanted to go." She suddenly felt like kicking herself. In retrospect it was obvious what had happened, but at the time, aside from thinking it incredibly lucky and a little weird, she hadn't had the luxury of questioning it too much. After all, Amarja had made all the arrangements in Arabic, which made eavesdropping a little difficult.

Sydney was having similar feelings, but realized there was nothing she could do about them, besides, she had bigger fish to fry. "So was Rajiv, or whoever he was, caught?"

The agent wasn't surprised the question came from Sydney, her eyes practically smoldered with hate at the mention of the man, she seemed to hate Campbell more than The Viper. Unfortunately he couldn't tell her what he knew she wanted to hear. "No." He shook his head, looking down at the carpet for a moment before looking up again. He suspected he'd find her eyes drilling into his like a pair of demanding lasers, and he was right. "We swept the area but never found him. I left a few guys undercover in Sid Ifni in case he's hanging around somewhere trying to lay low." He smirked a little. "But if we don't find him you have to remember it's possible he was on Mer de Teuer when Ichriem was activated."

The idea of Rajiv, a.k.a. Davis Campbell, a.k.a. All-Around-Lunatic, being transformed into a tongue-flicking island lizard made everyone in the room adopt Derek's wry smirk.

"You know, I've heard seagulls enjoy lizards," Preston began conversationally.

"Yes." Nigel nodded in agreement. "And hawks."

"Eagles," Preston counted off on his fingers, holding up three.

"Vultures," Nigel returned, causing his brother increase his count to four.

Derek shook his head in amusement. "Other lizards." The two brothers looked to him and he grinned. "You have to admit," he shrugged innocently, "some of them eat each other… I think it'd have a nice sense of irony."

"You guys are so disgusting." Claudia rolled her eyes as if she'd been listening to a conversation between three ten-year-old boys. "Besides, everyone knows lizards are only good for two things: purses and boots."

"Yes," the dry wit Nigel had employed in his banter returned with a vengeance. "How could we forget such a vital portion of the food chain?"

Claudia made a face and stuck out her tongue. "You just don't have any fashion sense Ni-_gel_."

The young man arched an eyebrow and cocked his head slightly. "I don't? Then I suppose I was having an out of body experience last spring when you borrowed my leather coat… and still haven't returned it."

"Humph!" Claudia miffed. "You think I like your stupid coat? It was cold that day," she defended, "and I haven't even _looked_ at it since then."

"Hmm." Nigel nodded sagely. "So that explains why you were wearing it in all those pictures you showed me from the Alaskan cruise you took last month."

She suddenly looked like a little girl with her fingers caught in the cookie jar. Her eyes widened and her mouth formed a surprised 'O'. She'd forgotten about the snapshots, and the fact Nigel had been the first person she'd showed them to after getting the film developed. He hadn't said one word about the obvious appearance of the coat at the time, although he had made several inquires about the Alaskan weather. She'd fully intended to return the item before it got cold enough for him to need it again… even if _perhaps_ she had become overly attached to it. Her jaw snapped shut. "I was just airing it out for you," she recovered, albeit much too late to be remotely believable. She finally sighed and rolled her eyes. "All right! Fine! I wore your coat, are you happy now?"

"Well, no," Nigel shook his head, a teasing glint still sparkling in his eyes. "Not really. It's somewhat depressing to realize my coat took a better trip this summer than I did."

"Oh, come on Nigel," Sydney patted his arm. "Remember how much fun we had in Denspar while Claudia was on that boat?"

"Denspar?" he echoed, clearly implying she was insane. Visions of their fairly recent jaunt through the forests of Bali came roaring back in vivid color. It had been a failed relic hunt, and while they'd encountered no danger, they did manage to stumble into one embarrassing situation after another… most of them effecting him…a fact that kept Sydney nearly giddy with mirth. "Oh no, don't think I've forgiven you for _that_."

"That was an accident!" came the automatic defense.

Preston leaned forward with interest, looking from one to the other. "Really?" he looked to his brother and grinned. "And just what happened in Denspar?" he teased.

Sydney opened her mouth and Nigel glared at her, making a sharp noise of protest and holding up his index finger in warning. "Not. One. Word."

"It was funny!" she protested.

"Yes, well, if you think _that_ was funny, maybe I should tell him what happened in Singapore."

Singapore! "Nigel!" she reproached, internally wincing as she realized her tone was the same as one her mother used to employ. "That wasn't funny!"

"Maybe not to you," he quipped, and then, rather than smirk or appear the least bit smug, he flashed his most innocent smile.

She snorted and muttered something under her breath that was likely far from a compliment. Nigel's "Who-me? I'm-so-cute-and-innocent" look worked well to confuse passing bad guys and charm little old ladies, but had little effect on her. She noticed Preston was fighting so hard to keep from laughing out loud, his cheeks had turned pink. Apparently the "look" was nothing new to Nigel's brother.

"I think you're walking on dangerous ground Nige." Derek observed. "Better quit while you're ahead… but," he grinned, "you and I should get together and have a chat when you get back to the States," he turned to Sydney and winked, "I'd personally _love_ to hear what happened to Syd in Singapore." As soon as he finished speaking a soft, cream-colored pillow flew across the room, aimed squarely at his head. He caught it with ease and arched an eyebrow. "Now I _know_ it's something I need to hear!"

Sydney absently groped the couch behind her back searching for another pillow. "Speaking of stories Derek," her eyes bored into his, daring him to make one more comment, "aren't **_you_** supposed to be telling **_us_** one right now?"

"Well who wants to hear about that any more?" he grinned. "Not when…"

"Derek!"

The agent chuckled shortly. "All right." He took another sip of lemonade and soon regained a more serious attitude. "After you left, we had Ichriem boxed up and airlifted off the island, the damn thing was heavier than hell, weighed about two tons. We managed to keep a hush on the whole thing. No one from the Moroccan government ever saw the statue… they saw the box once we got it to shore, but we convinced them the only thing in it was a prototype missile launcher the Gurel Nataz had stolen from our military."

"Clever," Sydney nodded. It sounded like a plan Lloyd would have cooked up. By claiming Ichriem was stolen, top secret military technology, it would effectively stop anyone from trying to peek in the box.

"They didn't have any reason to doubt us, they knew we were after the Gurel Nataz; that was why they approved our initial operation inside their borders. They also didn't think there was anything on Mer de Tueur worth having, so the fact we were taking something from there only reinforced the idea it must have been something the Gurel Nataz had hidden there."

"So where is it now?" Nigel asked the question that floated on the forefront of everyone's minds.

"Well," Derek glanced at his watch. "Right now it's on a C-130 somewhere over the Atlantic. It's being taken to the Smithsonian, they're going to take a look at it and try to figure out what makes it tick." He set his drink on a coaster and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and lacing his fingers together. "I think you should know," he looked around the room meeting everyone's gaze, "nobody really believes Ichriem does what we said it did."

Sydney frowned. "But… your men, on the island… They saw it too didn't they?"

"They don't know what they saw." He shook his head. "The Gurel Nataz opened fire on them from the rocks at almost the same time we activated the statue. My guys didn't even know how many they were up against. One minute they're being shot at by an unknown number of hidden hostiles and the next they've got humming in their ears and see a big flash of light… they didn't actually **_see_** anyone turn into a lizard."

It was definitely an interesting revelation, one they hadn't considered. "Well," Preston mused thoughtfully, "I suppose when it comes right down to it, we didn't really **_see_** it either. Not one of us can honestly say we _saw_ anyone turn into a lizard right before our eyes."

The five looked at each other as if searching for someone to refute the statement, but they realized it was true: while their minds had drawn the obvious conclusion from the facts, they really _hadn't_ seen anything.

"Right." Lloyd nodded. "And as for that whole teleporting down the cliff deal, it was pretty much the same thing: one minute they saw us at the top, the next, there was a flash of light and we were at the bottom. We could have all just slid down it in a rockslide for all they know. One of my guys actually asked if I was okay from the fall, he sure as hell didn't see what happened."

Sydney shook her head, then cleared her throat. "But even if they don't believe it, what happens when they activate the statue? They'll know." And in her opinion, some things were better kept from the realm of knowledge.

"They won't be trying that for a few months… not until the researchers finish their study. After that, they'll probably take it out of the city to some kind of wide-open space to fire it up." The agent suddenly looked very much like a spy… like a man with a secret he'd never fully tell anyone. "Then I think they'll get a little surprise." He knew they'd likely want an explanation of that cryptic statement, after all, he'd made it cryptic on purpose just for the fun of watching their reactions.

"What kind of _surprise_?" Sydney questioned suspiciously. **_Now_**_ what's he done?_

"The kind that pisses researchers off," he grinned. "After all, what's worse than trying to turn something on and it doesn't work?"

Both of her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "You sabotaged it!?"

"Tsk, tsk," Derek shook his head in mock hurt. "That's such a nasty word Syd… I prefer the term _'modified'_. Don't worry, I didn't break anything, the crystals are all still in one piece, I'm not that crazy." He winked, then continued rapidly before anyone could comment on his sanity. "And there's another piece of good news: because of his knowledge on the subject, our buddy Dr. Reynold has been asked to help in the study. He jumped pretty high at the offer, especially after I told him exactly what the statue did. He's agreed that once he gets to the Smithsonian he'll do whatever he can to downplay Ichriem's power."

Sydney felt a rush of tension slip from her shoulders. "That _is_ good news." Not only was she thrilled her old colleague would at last get his chance to see the fabled statue, but the fact he would have an inside track on what information was released about it was doubly good news. "And I suppose you had _nothing_ to do with Dr. Reynold being offered that position?"

"Wellllll," he drawled. "I _might_ have mentioned his name to a few people." His tone became more serious. "I'm not sure how far a little sabotage and a friendly researcher will go to keep it a secret, but it's the best I can do right now. I still have my clearance for the project so I'll have access to whatever the research team comes up with, but aside from that…" he exhaled and leaned back, "we'll just have to wait and see."

The words settled around the occupants of the room like a warm cloak on a blustery winter day. After all the worry over the fate of the relic, a level of welcome comfort came from knowing Ichriem wasn't entirely out of reach as long as Lloyd and Reynold were involved.

"You did everything you could with the circumstances." Sydney affirmed in gratitude. "If nothing else, at least you bought some time."

"Time is easy to buy," Lloyd nodded. "The rough part is waiting for the bill to come." But perhaps with a little luck it would be one bill they'd never be called to answer.

* * *

Later that afternoon, the gathering ended when Lloyd declared he had a plane to catch, so rather than calling back the cab that brought him, Preston volunteered his car for the task of going to the airport. And, having learned his lesson, he'd pointedly ignored the eager 'Oh Boy!' look on Claudia's face and pressed the Jaguar keys firmly into Sydney's hand. 

Now, with the two women away (Claudia no doubt hoping to coerce Sydney into letting her take the wheel) and Preston in the kitchen cleaning up the afternoon dishes, Nigel was left to his own devices… And he'd chosen to loll on the couch in the parlor, flipping idly through a book. Once again it was quiet in the house, but it wasn't the uneasy type of silence Nigel felt upon first waking up. This time it was nice… comforting.

Time slipped easily by, unmeasured by the lone occupant of the room until he looked up and noticed his brother return from the kitchen.

Preston recognized the leather bound tome Nigel held, and smiled as he moved into the room, sitting easily on the edge of the coffee table. "Into the old encyclopedia again, eh?" The book was part of an elaborate set once owned by their grandfather, and as children the two brothers had been fascinated by them, even though they'd been published in 1920 and were painfully and often hysterically outdated.

Nigel favored him with a half-smirk, pushing himself into a better sitting posture. "Just catching up on a few things."

"As of 1920?" Preston teased, examining the book a little closer to see which volume it was, not surprised to see it was the letter 'A'. That one had always been Nigel's favorite thanks to an elaborate, full-page illustration of a Model-T Ford under the term 'automobile'. He'd always been fascinated with it for some reason, and Preston could admit, it was a very well done picture, as were most of the slick-papered illustrations in the books. "Were you looking at that car again?"

Nigel stared down at the book a moment before handing it over to his brother, the pages open, sure enough, to the drawing of the Model-T. "I suppose you caught me."

His brother studied the picture, but having seen it so many times in the past, it was long committed to memory. He then closed the volume and set it aside on the coffee table, looking back to his brother curiously. "I don't suppose you're ever going to tell me why you're so fascinated with it?"

"I might," he shrugged, letting his gaze drift back to the encyclopedia for a moment before shaking his head. "If I ever figure it out myself."

Preston wasn't sure if he was teasing him or just really had no clue why he always gravitated to the old book, a habit Nigel seemed to employ more often when something was disturbing him. He decided not to press the issue, knowing there wasn't really a point in bringing it up… if looking at the book somehow made Nigel feel better when the world turned grim, then he had no intention of tampering with the belief. Besides, he hoped what he was about to do would help his brother more than questioning his habits. He reached behind his back and drew a small, somewhat square but still rather oblong box from his pocket, handing it to Nigel.

For his part, the younger man was suitably startled, staring at the box curiously before accepting it. "What's this?"

But Preston merely smiled. "Open it."

Nigel spared another somewhat suspicious glance at this brother before fumbling with the box and ripping away the wrapping paper. He wasn't sure what he expected to find inside… knowing Preston's often-warped sense of humor, it was probably a lucky rabbit's foot to hang on his key chain. So when he pulled the lid from the small box his breath suddenly caught in his throat. _Definitely not a rabbit's foot._ For what stared back at him wasn't a fuzzy dime store trinket, but a shining Swiss watch… a _very_ expensive one.

He looked up in wide-eyed shock. "I… It's…" he stammered for words, finally coming up with: "This must have cost a fortune! I mean, it's wonderful, but you didn't have to do this."

A ghost of a smile touched Preston's face. "Yes I did," he answered, standing and placing his hands in his pockets. He paced a few steps until he was standing in front of the piano, then picked up the same framed photo of the two of them he'd found himself staring at what seemed like a lifetime ago when he'd gotten the ransom note. He paced back and handed the picture to Nigel. "Do you remember when that was taken?"

Nigel studied the picture curiously and realized he'd never seen it before. It was another of their mother's artistic black and white shots, in it he and his brother were sitting on a set of stark white steps, a Greek column looming not far behind them. He was nine years old, and had already snapped from his pudgy "Podge" state to the opposite extreme, a scrawny little boy with wind tossed hair. "Yes, it was the Parthenon, that summer father was lecturing in Athens."

"Right," Preston nodded, "but do you remember what happened before it was taken? What we were doing?"

Nigel furrowed his brow and studied the picture again to see if it jostled any memories. "I don't know. I remember we'd been there all day, and it was so hot… mother bought us those popsicles… remember? They melted as fast as we could eat them." he smiled at the memory. "I think when this was taken we were getting ready to leave, father had come to pick us up… and we'd been…" Then suddenly the answer came to him and he laughed, remembering exactly what the two of them had been doing before the picture was taken. "Following that tour group around! And you, **_you_** were driving that guide absolutely mad!"

"Well he kept making mistakes, I couldn't let that go on could I?" he shrugged innocently. "And I recall you even had a few things to say when he called the Romans Spartans."

Nigel looked chagrinned. "I wouldn't be surprised if he retired after that." He shook his head at the memory and passed the picture back to Preston. "But it was a fun day wasn't it?"

"It was," Preston nodded.

The younger man cocked his head off to the side at his brother's tone. "That's what you wanted me to remember." It wasn't a question.

Preston returned the frame to its place on the piano and was silent a moment. "You know, I was looking at this right before Sydney came knocking on the door with Lloyd, and I could remember every detail about it. It was all so clear and…" he may have been about to say something else, but broke off, looking down for a moment before lifting his eyes. There was an underlying seriousness and sincerity there that gave a new dimension to his words. "I guess I just wanted you to remember we've always been capable of having good days."

Nigel was silent, staring down at the watch and fingering the band, he ran his finger over the smooth, glass face. "I know," he finally answered.

He absently unhooked the clasps that held the watch in the case, taking it in his hand. He wasn't sure he'd ever been given such an expensive present, and he never would have suspected Preston of giving it to him. Even more surprising was it was exactly what he would have picked out if buying it for himself. The realization caused his thoughts to take another track, and he wondered, not for the first time in the last few days, just how well his brother knew him.

He finally turned over the watch to fasten it to his wrist, but froze as something unusual caught his eye. Carefully carved in tiny letters across the back plate was an inscription, and as he read it, he sucked in a shaky breath and stared up at Preston, who was staring back him in anticipation.

The events of the last week clamored though his mind, back to a mere five days before to that broken down Algerian hotel. He'd awoken to the Viper telling him to rise and shine… he'd been sick and miserable, and at one of the darkest, most hopeless points in his life. It still stung to know how low he'd let himself slip, how he'd nearly given up after all the promises he made himself to never to stop trying.

And then, like a puff of smoke from a magic lamp, his brother had suddenly been there, literally and figuratively propping him up. In all his thoughts of rescue, it never occurred to him Preston might tag along on the journey. Yet from what Sydney had told him, Preston refused to take no as an answer, over-riding both her and Derek's protests that he should stay home in case The Viper tried contacting him again. His brother had even footed the bill for every aspect of their transcontinental trip not covered by Derek's government funds.

Monetarily speaking, the kidnapping cost Preston about ₤3,500, which in the grand scheme of things wasn't very much… not even a month's wages to his brother, what with his lecturing at the University of London and his steady job at the museum. The money was something Nigel could repay if asked, but he knew he never would be and the issue would never be discussed. It wasn't the money that was irreplaceable or important, it was the effort and the risk his brother had taken on his behalf, those were things Nigel doubted he could ever repay.

He was, for one of the few times in his life, indebted to Preston, and it wasn't the horrible, gnawing, resentful feeling he'd always imagined it would be.

It was hard to pin down just what had changed between them, as describing it was like trying to catch mist in a bottle. But whatever it was swirled around the words they'd spoken with such heart in the dank halls of a dilapidated hotel. Words that Preston had now immortalized as a reminder in carefully engraved lettering: _You'll always be worth more than a watch_. To anyone else reading them, the words would likely convey very little, perhaps someone would think it a good joke to carve on the back of a watch. Yet to him, being the words he'd spoken to his brother so soon after thinking him killed, they would always carry a meaning deep into his heart that had never been spoken out loud.

Now, looking at his brother, he couldn't think of anything to say. Somehow 'thank you' didn't seem like enough. Finally he smiled, looking pointedly back at the inscription and back up again. "So will you."

And as Preston smiled broadly at him in return, he fastened the watch to his wrist and stared at it moment, noting the smooth motion of the second hand as it silently tracked the minutes. To him, the watch itself would always be worth more than a watch as well. The injustices, both small and large he'd always blamed on his brother seemed to have faded in importance, many entering the realm of triviality. Perhaps they would return, perhaps their reconciliation was as wispy as the Saharan wind, but he had only to think of the words he'd made Sydney embrace: _no steps backward_. And he could now finally see the person before him as the boy he'd laughed with as they ate popsicles in the hot afternoon shadows of the Parthenon. "I think I'm hungry," he suddenly announced.

* * *

Monday afternoon, two days after seeing his brother off at the airport, Preston Bailey sat behind his desk at the British museum and sifted through a large pile of mail. Letters and packages from all over the world were scattered across the desktop and on the surrounding floor and he couldn't help but regard them with an unenthusiastic sigh. Somehow he'd never noticed just how much mail he could accumulate within the span of a couple of weeks. 

Nigel should have stayed a few more days, he thought, drawing the next FedEx package towards him. _He could have helped me sift through all this bloody junk_.

But Nigel was safely back in the States, in fact, Preston had spoken with him no more than thirty minutes earlier. Apparently he'd just come from an extensive meeting consisting of his degree advisor, the president of the college, and of course, Sydney Fox. And the outcome was good. He knew his brother had been worried about the status of the semester…confessing he wondered if he'd be allowed to pick up his scheduled course work since he'd missed the immediate start of it. Fortunately the administration was sympathetic and agreed he could resume his schedule since he'd missed no major tests or assignments.

Regarding the package in his hands, Preston shook his thoughts away and studied the label to discern the sender. _D.L. Antiquities Preservation? What was that?_ He gave the box an experimental shake and shrugged, slicing through the packing tape with practiced ease and pulling back the flap. The standard array of packing chips leapt at him and he shook them in the trash, finally reaching in the box to find a folded sheet of paper and something very long and thin wrapped in a thick layer of bubble wrap. He frowned slightly and set the mystery item aside, turning his attention to the letter.

Moments of complete and utter shock had always been rare for Preston, yet as of late, he'd experienced what seemed to be a lifetime of them… and now it seemed he was facing yet another.

As he scanned the handwritten words on the page, his eyes drifted to the bubble-shrouded item on his desk in disbelief, and he stared at it for a long minute before returning his attention to the letter. He read the words twice more, memorizing every one, before folding it over and leaning back in his chair with an expression of deep contemplation. Another long moment passed before he finally reached forward and took the item in his hand.

A misty haze of conflicting emotions reflected in his countenance as he slowly pulled up the tape that held the bubbled plastic in place and carefully unrolled it. Once rid of the protective layer, along with a surrounding of plain brown paper, it was revealed the letter had spoken true. Part of him had absurdly hoped it was a lie.

His fingers lightly traced along the gilded edge, now exposed in all its glory, before he carefully set it back on the desktop and swiveled around in his chair. He regarded the letter one last time, then stood and moved to the other side of the desk, carefully inserting the edge into the paper shredder.

Preston - I know you weren't expecting this, but I had to do something with this thing and figured you were the safest bet.

The small motor whirled as the release was triggered and the paper was slowly drawn inside the shredder.

I couldn't keep it, and I also couldn't give it to Syd or Nigel since we'd be too obvious if someone ever gets wise and comes looking for it. Not that I'm expecting anyone to ever look for it, but I'd rather be safe than sorry.

The tattered strips of the note fell into the receptacle below and Preston reached for them, tearing them into even smaller pieces with his hands.

No one knows I've sent it to you, not Syd or Nige, not even Reynold, and with the exception of them, only Claudia knows this thing even exists. And I don't want you to tell them you have it either.

He opened his fingers and let the remnants of the letter fall like confetti into the wastebasket before moving back to his chair.

The fewer that know the better, and right now, it's just you and me. You're the last link in the chain though, because as soon as you opened this box, it's out of my hands. I know it's going to be a heavy feather to hold, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry, but I think you'll probably agree this is the best way. I'll be in touch if the situation changes, but for now, what you do with it is your secret, I hope you can keep it as well as the Phoenicians.

Lloyd hadn't signed the letter, but then, there'd been no need.

Preston rubbed his hand across his face and took a deep breath to clear his mind before taking Ichriem's golden feather into his hands again. Even apart from the statue it was a work of art, etched with fine lines and graceful detail that celebrated the skill of its creator. Under normal circumstances he would have been thrilled to have part of the fabled statue in his hands, he would have clicked up his heels for joy and run straight to the head curator to made arrangements for a display. But current situations were far from normal.

He was no stranger to responsibility, he'd known it his whole life, although he could admit there were a few times in youth he'd frantically tried to shirk it… several times when his mother urged him to "watch Nigel." He smiled sadly at the thought, hoping wherever their mother's spirit might be, she knew he'd at long last followed her instructions without complaint. He wondered what she'd say now, or better yet, what his father would have said if he'd seen Lloyd's letter and the feather of Ichriem. His father had been an optimist, yet he'd also held a firm grasp of cause, effect, and consequences. Several paternal bits of fatherly advice drifted forward from Preston's memory and he focused on one in particular: _You'll know you're growing up when you do something you don't want to do and feel good about it_.

At the time he'd first heard the words he could remember wondering why he'd ever do something he didn't want to and be glad about it, but as the years passed he'd gradually realized it to be true. Now, while he didn't particularly want the responsibility of the feather, he recognized Lloyd was right: it was the best way to keep it safe. He carefully re-wrapped the golden relic in its protective bubbles and placed it back in its box, then fished his briefcase from below the desk and snapped it open, placing the box inside and closing the lid.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, running his hand over the leather briefcase before sliding back under the desk. It would yet take a great deal of thought to decide how best to hide Ichriem's secret, but once it was hidden, he doubted even a Phoenician could ever find it again.

* * *

Far from England, Mer de Tueur, and the parched desert plains of Africa, a man lay in wooden-slatted deck chair and stared out at the ocean. White-capped waves lapped peacefully at the shore and an occasional tourist or native islander meandered along the beach. 

The man held a large glass in his hand, heavy with ice cubes and containing a sweet, tropical punch. Overall there was nothing outstanding about him, he was roughly fifty years old and wore a pair of long swim trunks and a loose, unbuttoned cotton shirt that wafted slightly in the breeze. His hair was dark and his skin was tanned, and his eyes were hidden behind an expensive pair of sunglasses. His face was a face that could have belonged to any man.

He took a deep sip of his drink and leaned back against the wooden chair, resting the glass on his bare stomach and enjoying the chill that seeped from the overly-iced drink. Along the beach, he caught sight of a shapely young woman in a skimpy bikini and let his gaze follow her until she vanished out of sight. Anyone who saw him would assume he was man on vacation, and they'd have been right.

After all, his job wasn't perfect. Sometimes he had a bad day… sometimes he had to fake his own death.

He'd been in his business a long time… long enough to take certain precautions against what could potentially happen on any assignment. The thin Kevlar vest he always wore under his clothes while he worked was a special design, the outer layer being filled with a viscous red fluid to mimic blood if it was penetrated. It had fooled more than one person who'd tried to kill him. Granted, the rib over his heart was deeply bruised from the bullet and his mouth was painful and slowly healing where he'd bitten down hard to produce a convincing mouthful of blood, but overall he was well.

Campbell had been a fool not to check his pulse, but then, he'd just been a fool period. And The Viper could never meet his end at the hands of a fool.

The mercenary had watched from afar in Sid Ifni and knew Fox, Lloyd, and the Baileys had found the statue, and he was glad, honestly pleased. He had no real interest in Ichriem, only the money he would have earned for it, and now… well, the statue could rot in a museum or a government basement for all he cared. It wasn't his job to worry about it any more. He was glad to let Fox have it, just as long as the Gurel Nataz didn't.

The Gurel Nataz… _the bastards_.

His thoughts turned dark. They'd set him up, with no intention of giving him his pay… and for the first time in his 30-year career he'd been used. _Used_. The word was dirty. Even the coolness of his tropical drink couldn't stem down the heated boil of anger that still rose at the thought. The Gurel Nataz made a grave mistake to betray him, and it was going to cost them.

In a few weeks he'd ease back into life and do as he'd always done, selling his expertise to those willing to pay for it, but this time there'd be a difference. The Gurel Nataz would be his enemy. He would descend on their operations like a misty plague. If he heard of something they meant to steal, he'd steal it first. If he heard of someone they meant to kill, he'd kill the assassin. If he heard of anything they ever wanted, he'd find a way to interfere. The Gurel Nataz had robbed him of half a billion dollars and he was going to get it back through their filthy souls.

No one used The Viper.

Soft steps on the sand snapped his attention back his present situation and he turned his head, letting a pleasant smile touch his face. "Six-thirty already?" he asked, noting the lowering position of the sun and the golden hue slowly permeating the clear blue of the ocean.

The slender woman now standing over him nodded, pushing a strand of blonde hair from her face and favoring him with a smile of her own. "Already," she confirmed.

He rose from the chair and took her arm and together they walked slowly down the shore, back towards the resort. The woman was a guest of the hotel, just as he was, and together they'd shared several enjoyable dinner conversations and taken in a few sights. Their relationship was purely casual, and he found himself grateful they'd met. Her laughter was infectious, her presence was relaxing, and the discourse she supplied was intelligent. He could admit he'd miss her when she flew home the next week, but until then, he planned to make the most of her company. After all, there was always plenty of time to be The Viper, but only a few weeks a year when he was free to reclaim the lost remnant of a man known as Anthony Vezzetti.

"Have you thought of anything you want to do tomorrow?" she asked.

"Not really," he smiled, turning his head to gaze across the waves at the first pink clouds of the early sunset. In only a few hours night would fall, followed by the dawning of a new day. "But I thought we might try the zoo… I've heard wonderful things about the reptile house."

=============================== 

**The End**

_The quotes: "Aequum est peccatis veniam poscentem reddere rursus."_" ('It is right for him who asks forgiveness for his offenses to grant it to others.') "The harder you fall, the higher you bounce," And _'Vestigia nulla retrorsum'_ ('No steps backwards) are attributed to the Roman poet and philosopher Horace (Quintus Horatius Flaccus) who lived from 65 B.C-8 B.C.


End file.
